


flowers bloom; even then

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Care giving, Depression, Internalised ableism, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Youkai, coming to terms with things, sight loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: A tale of a flower coming to life only to be resigned to playing on a tablet all day wouldn’t really be one for legend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the first half of this deals with thoughts and concepts of internalised ableism and struggles to adapt to disability and is a little heavy in places, so please be mindful of that ♡ junmyeon's eye condition is a type of optic neuropathy, affecting the optic nerves. it can cause discoloured/double/blurred/fragmented/spotty vision or areas of permanent sight loss where parts of the nerve are essentially dead.  
> chanyeol is a [furutsubaki no rei](http://yokai.com/furutsubakinorei/) and was written very much with [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snqZS6Ai9IU) this in mind!  
> the title is from [this haiku](http://www.takase.com/shop/japanese-scrolls-kakaemono/haiku/issa-a-world-of-grief-and-pain-flowers-bloom-even-then-ku-no-shaba-ya-sakura-ga-sakeba-saita-tote/), which has dual interpretations as to whether it's optimistic or pessimistic
> 
> aaand with that said, thank you mods for being so approachable and accommodating! dear prompter I hope you enjoy this, I had the idea as soon as I saw your prompt and it ended up becoming my longest ever project and very dear to me;; thank you for letting me share this little part of my heart ♡

Junmyeon has become an expert at puttering. Every morning he takes his meds, does the simple exercises and self testing his eye doctor ordered. Breakfast is easy and always the same (it has to be, to be easy). And then the rest of the day, if he doesn’t have appointments, is for puttering.   
  
Five months of it, just about.   
  
He has his podcast schedule, his tv schedule. Meals are at set times so he doesn’t overlook them. The only thing Junmyeon really _does_ beside putter around is gardening. He became a keen gardener five months ago (just about. Everything has been since five months ago. Just about. He doesn’t count dates.)  
  
It’s been hit and miss, mostly because Junmyeon’s prior experiences of gardening amount to very little. He still doesn’t know what perennial means. It drains a ridiculous amount of energy reading the enlarged text on his tablet, so he saves that for the order forms and fills his basket by colour. And he wanted it to all grow _now_ , so every seed pack has gone into the ground regardless of the tiny printed instructions he didn’t bother asking anyone to read. Waiting for them to grow takes time Junmyeon couldn’t bare to wait for.  
  
Kyungsoo drove them - Junmyeon, and Baekhyun with his head poking out the window like an excited puppy - to some rural area he knew of to buy supplies. It was a large warehouse with tall greenhouses outside and a pond the size of Junmyeon’s entire garden. Baekhyun held his arm and Kyungsoo loaded up the cart, and with precisely zero knowledge of how to start a garden between them (“Why do we need so much soil when the garden is already full of dirt?”), they did just that.  
  
For two weekends Jongdae helped (well, did. Junmyeon supervised) dig the beds and pull the weeds. The only plant already in Junmyeon’s small patch of garden was a camellia bush that had been big and blooming when he moved in years ago.  
  
Everyone was doing their best to help, but two of his closest friends are married men with more responsibilities than just Junmyeon. Until he could have his own colourful garden he could at least bring a little colour into the house - one big, bright camellia every other week didn’t seem like it would do much harm.  
  
It’s actually the first time in Junmyeon’s life that he’s learned about something so haphazardly, and it’s almost annoying how well that’s been going. He’s just doing things his own way, his own pace. He has a gardening apron. Gardeners probably have gardening clothing, but even when he had his sight Junmyeon would have been too lazy for all that bother. He likes to go out when the mood takes him. When his knees and arms ache it means he’s been productive.  
  
He likes how grounding it is in the evenings when he’s methodically scrubbing the dirt from his knuckles and under his nails. He imagines how it must cake into all the small creases of his palms and how the slippery sweet-smelling foam between his hands is lifting it away. It fills the time. There’s an awful lot of time between coming in from the garden and lying in bed, in the dark, pretending if he turned on a light it would be much different.  
  
  
  
🌼   
  
  
  
It’s been raining. Junmyeon hasn’t been able to visit his garden for two days now. During the night rain pelted his window, but this morning he listens carefully with half of his face buried in a pillow, and there’s no sound. There’s not much of anything when he looks across to his flower beds. Things are just like that sometimes. Turning back, the room doesn’t look like a cloud has descended during the night. Must be drizzle, or fog. Nothing will need watering after all this rain, but he could still go out just to check on everything.  
  
Junmyeon never particularly liked his job as a lecturer. It was idealistic work that his heart had never been truly in after his first few let downs. He wasn’t all that good at holding people’s attention, well liked but not well respected. Some days he misses it. Usually by noon. Most days he’s starting to miss things he never thought he would by noon. But then he visits his garden again, checking everyone is still well watered and his seedlings are still just, if he really focuses, starting to poke their little heads up. If there’s nothing new to plant he sits out there with them and enjoys their company.  
  
Retired at 26 with enough in the bank to have no sleepless nights should be a dream come true. The medical negligence compensation was easily enough to keep him well above water for years, maybe forever if his investments are good ones. But, you know, the whole medical negligence part is the catch in that otherwise idyllic setup.  
  
Junmyeon sighs and taps his fingertips against the cold glass. Another long day of staying indoors with artificial lights. He looks down to the windowsill. At least he has-  
  
“Oh?”  
  
His camellia is missing from the window. The container is there, still upright. If he’s somehow knocked the flower out it should be easy to see. That’s why he likes it; the red is so stark and bright he can _always_ see it. Even on days his sight is inexplicably worse, the way it will apparently one day inexplicably improve, he can see his favourite flower. But he can’t right now, and that’s- it’s impossible. Sure his room is cluttered, but the petals are so _red_.  
  
A lot of vulnerability comes with sight loss, Junmyeon’s found. It’s just a flower, but the familiar twist of anxiety in his gut is already there. Something is going wrong. Something important. Anything going wrong is twice the concern when you so frequently need assistance.  
  
Don’t get upset, he thinks firmly, because stress is one of the worst things for him.  
  
But those flowers.. they’re special. They’re why he didn’t let Jongdae uproot the tree to give him a whole clear bed to work in. They’re what snapped him out of the downward spiral he was in fresh out of hospital release, what made him realise there was still something he could enjoy. Some colour and joy in this (often literally) dark time. The last five months of his life - this new, strange life - the camellia’s big round blooms have given him hope.  
  
“Where are you, where- where could you have gone?” He scoops things from the floor in handfuls. It all feels like clothing. No flashes of scarlet anywhere. “Little flower,” he calls, lifting the duvet where it overhangs the bed and feeling under the frame. He always has one in here. He speaks to them often, when he’s looking out the window and willing himself to distinguish sections of the flower bed. It shouldn’t _matter_ , but Junmyeon’s priorities aren’t exactly what they once were.  
  
Fumbling in his closet for a jacket is just about the most upsettingly frustrating thing he could be doing right now. It’s dark and his clothing is dark and Kyungsoo makes a good point that at a time like this Junmyeon would really benefit from being more organised. Unfortunately his personality didn’t magically adapt the day he was classed disabled. Nothing he’s getting hold of _feels_ like a jacket. So fuck it. Morning routine forgotten, he heads straight downstairs and pulls on his shoes.  
  
It’s surprisingly warm outside. Despite the days of rain it doesn’t seem to be humid, just damp and fresh. Junmyeon’s shoes squelch in the wet grass. Moisture clings to his bare arms and within moments his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead.  
  
If the only damn thing that stops him hating the cage of his home is some splashes of colour then that’s just how it is. If the only damn stupid pointless thing he can actually do for himself without calling in the cavalry is get another flower then at least he’ll have achieved one thing this week.  
  
The ground is uneven, and it’s hard to make out his usual route with this thick fog in the air. Junmyeon’s always been a cautious person, and recently he takes everything very, very easy at risk of ending up in hospital (again. At least the fracture clinic would be a change of scenery). But right now he’s a man on a mission. He sticks out his arms for balance and walks in hard, determined steps. There’s no one to see him fumbling along. Think less of him or pity him or- none of that matters right now.  
  
Abruptly Junmyeon steps down into soil. He’s already at the end of the lawn. But the- The camellia is old, tall and wide and a marker of the direction he has to walk in. Carefully, Junmyeon steps back onto grass and turns to look the bed up and down.  
  
It’s gone. Logically it can’t have _gone_ , bushes don’t just vanish. It’s hard to make out exactly where in the small patch of garden he is, but there’s red on the ground. Camellias drop their flowers all at once, Junmyeon knows, but the pool of colour in his vision looks far too small. What he can make out of it, at least. What’s with this fog? Junmyeon’s never been in any like it. He can check the news when he gets back in the warm.   
  
Right now he just needs to do this before he loses his nerve. He can do this. He can figure out where his flower is - or more, where _he_ is, because of the two it’s more likely he’s misplaced himself.  
  
The grass is wet against his knees. Like he does when he’s working in the garden, Junmyeon feels his way along. There’s sticks protecting the seedlings, a fern, a somewhat out of hand pool of forget-me-nots, and- something solid. Could the bush have somehow been pulled out of the ground? Giving it a second prod, Junmyeon frowns. It doesn’t feel like tree.  
  
“This _fog_ ,” he grumbles, and plants his hand straight into the faint patch of red. It’s soft, and kind of stringy when he closes his fingers around it. And attached to something- _someone_ , that starts to lift up with a groan.  
  
Junmyeon startles, swinging his arms as he sharply backs away. He crashes down onto his backside. Disoriented, the fog is so thick he can’t tell if he’s even looking up at the sky or towards the bed or his house. Wet has soaked straight through his sleep clothes, but he doesn’t even register it as another groan comes from the patch of fog at his feet.  
  
This, this he can’t do.  
  
  
  
It wasn’t willingly that Junmyeon let the stranger into his home. It’s just that he was so faint he couldn’t stay on his feet without assistance, and this person seemed very concerned about that. And also knew the exact route into the house. And seemingly knows Junmyeon, too.  
  
Even disoriented, angry and trembling Junmyeon can make out that the man on the opposite couch is frowning at him.   
  
“I thought you’d recognise me.”  
  
“I can’t s-“  
  
“See, I know. Well, you can a bit, you know? Enough. I’d hoped you’d recognise me,” he sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “Your camellia?”  
  
Junmyeon isn’t sure if that tone is disappointed or indignant. Either way, “What?” Is this man involved in the disappearance? What about his camellia could be important enough that someone would climb into his garden and.. Well, considering how he found this person, it’s more likely it was a prank of some kind gone wrong. A small flush of anger rises to Junmyeon’s face. “What about it?”   
  
“You really don’t recognise me,” says the large, naked man sitting on Junmyeon’s couch, with the audacity to sound as though Junmyeon’s at fault here. “It’s me,” his tone turns unexpectedly pleading. “You can see my colours, right? You can see it’s me. Kim Junmyeon. It’s me.”  
  
Something about hearing his name makes Junmyeon weak at the knees, then sick with another rush of anger. Adjusting to being a vulnerable person is still something he’s struggling with. “I don’t understand.”  
  
“Neither do I. I was.. I thought you’d know,” he ducks his head down awkwardly. Bright bright red hair. The same bloom of red that Junmyeon’s seen every day on his windowsill. “I thought you believed in spirituality,” he says, and that’s even more bewildering.   
  
“H- _Why_ would you know anything about what I..” Oh. The dots start to connect too quickly for Junmyeon to wilfully deny that he can see what’s happening. “You’re the.. you mean you’re its spirit?”   
  
“That’s right!” the stranger practically leaps out of the seat. Junmyeon jolts back, pressing his shoulders against the wall behind himself for stability.  
  
This makes no sense at all. Junmyeon’s mind is racing (how good would he even be at self-defence in this state? Could he dial for help before this person stopped him? There’s no way he could outrun someone. This man is naked. He’s really just. Entirely naked.) and the panic is starting to make him lightheaded.  
  
Junmyeon’s just considering where the nearest, heaviest object he could attempt to defend himself with may be when the sound of a siren fills the air. He hears it every day - it shouldn’t take him quite so long to realise it’s the alarm to remind him of his meds.  
  
They both look to his phone on the table and back to each other.  
  
“Take them,” the man says, and Junmyeon blanches. How could he know? “It’s important,” he presses. He stretches a hand towards Junmyeon when he picks the phone up to shut off the alarm. “Give me that, maybe I can find something.”   
  
Junmyeon protectively holds his phone to his chest. “If you’re a.. you’re a plant..spirit? How do you know what a phone is.” It seems like a fair question, but he hears him sigh heavily.  
  
“Do you know how much time we’ve spent together, Kim Junmyeon? You visit me every day. You talk to me for hours when you’re out there tending everyone.“ He gestures for the phone again. “You stopped your friend from digging me up, and..and you bring me into here, always.”  
  
“I do,” Junmyeon concedes. He holds his phone by the very edge as he passes it over and quickly snatches his hand back, to another sigh from the spirit.  
  
“You always want to keep me around. Junmyeon, you’ve..” he shrugs, dropping his head down. “This is unexpected, I know. But anyway, you should take your medication first.”  
  
“Yeah,” Junmyeon weakly agrees, and he’s not happy about it, but he turns away.  
  
  
Reading the page of enlarged text is slow going. The type is red on an orange background. It’s a site about yokai that Junmyeon doesn’t have to see clearly to feel is probably at least ten years old, if not significantly more. His camellia jogs his leg while Junmyeon reads. The way the couch cushion bounces along with the motion feels real.  
  
Junmyeon lowers his phone. “This says you’re a malicious spirit that leads people to their death in the fog.”  
  
“That’s not-!” His camellia jolts, almost leaping to his feet. Junmyeon looks across at him and he sinks back down. “I mean, that is true. But that’s for wild camellia! I promise. It was the only information I could find, it’s just a generalisation.”   
  
“That sounds exactly like something a malicious spirit would say.” Junmyeon’s teasing; this spirit seems particularly prone to offence. Now he’s had some time to think and considered all of his options, not panicking seemed the best one.  
  
When he was counting out his brown and red pills he focused hard on recalling the name he’d been told by his specialist. Neither he or Baekhyun could pronounce it. Charles Bonnet Syndrome, i.e if it’s not bad enough you can’t see, you can now see things that aren’t actually there and they’re really fucking realistic. He’s never experienced a hallucination before now, but the realisation was calming. That’s what this is. It’s loud and apparently channeling some deep recess of his guilty conscious with the way it’s disappointed in him, but that’s all it is.  
  
“Well what else do you want me to say?” his camellia counters, “Shut me back outside if you don’t trust me, but I thought I mattered to you.”  
  
Yeah, it’s _really_ digging into his guilt. “You do, you do,” he says a little over-earnestly. Stress is a damaging factor for Junmyeon’s day to day wellbeing, so it’s probably for the best if he doesn’t allow himself to be stressed about this. He can see the funny side to it. If it doesn’t end soon then he’ll call..hmm, maybe Kyungsoo. Either way he should call his doctor tomorrow just to report a change in condition. “You don’t have to go back outside.”  
  
His camellia shifts beside him, a move that looks like raised shoulders and crossed arms. Familiar faces are easier to pick details from, but especially in this gloomy light it’s hard to distinguish what exactly the human form of his plant looks like. Honestly, if he’s going to hallucinate it could at least have the decency to be in focus. The mouth and nose are barely visible, but his big eyes and dark, furrowed brows are just about there. “Are you scowling at me?” Junmyeon laughs.  
  
“Yes,” his voice is deep, loud. “How would you feel if you went to all the effort to become sentient and got treated like this?”  
  
”I’m sorry, you’re right,” Junmyeon can’t help smiling, “I don’t normally have days this eventful,” he explains, then laughs harder. This is all so silly. He’s heard of people hallucinating all manner of things, from animals in their homes to their homes shifting shape in front of their eyes. He hallucinates a big handsome man. Could be worse.  
  
  
  
Hallucinations don’t mean you’re losing your mind. Junmyeon reminds himself of that numerous times throughout the day. Finding clothing for his friendly, totally non-malicious (and very tall) spirit seemed a good idea, if he was going to continue appearing that opaque and realistic. His body felt solid and curved under the fabric when Junmyeon playfully tugged and patted it into place. They’ve been bickering and talking and _laughing_ , and that’s the first sign of madness, Junmyeon seems to recall, when you talk to yourself in earnest.  
  
Considering how anxious his health makes him it’s an uncharacteristic response, but Junmyeon’s actually kind of..not stressed. The presence of another human in his home is comforting, in a way. His friends are wonderful, but the amount of allotted buddy time they each spend on _caring_ for him means they never have time to just hang out. Sure it would be unnerving if he let himself think about the _what if_ of this, so he’s not letting himself. So even if it’s just his brain and mangled optic nerves teaming together to be assholes, he’s allowing it to feel good to at least replicate some company.   
  
  
  
It’s barely 8pm when Junmyeon decides he should make a start on  the night routine if he wants to make it to bed.  
  
“Is there anything I can do to help?” His camellia is immediately up and trailing after him as he heads for the stairs. “Junmyeon, please let me help.” He takes the stairs two at a time, waiting behind Junmyeon each time he catches him up, staring into his narrow back.  
  
Junmyeon pauses on the landing. He slept in late today and it’s not exactly late now, but he’s exhausted. Focusing so much energy into trying to _see_ is a bigger physical strain than he ever expects it to be. He’s really tried, when this human incarnate of his favourite bloom has been turned away or focused elsewhere. He’s willed himself more than ever to just look harder, somehow. And he’s basically just talked himself tired. Laughed himself tired. Not a sign of madness, but maybe makes a point for those support groups Jongdae mentions.   
  
“Would you mind shutting up downstairs?” Junmyeon asks, turning back. The spirit is two steps lower and at eye level. Red, red hair and not much else. “It would save me going back down again. There’s just..tv off, phone charger unplugged, both doors locked, all the blinds down,” he recites in the order he does them each night.   
  
“Sure,” his red hair bobs, “Don’t worry about a thing! I’ll check everything extra carefully.”  
  
Junmyeon smiles warmly. It’s polite, even if it’s not real. “Thank you. That would help a lot.”  
  
It’s been a disrupted day. For the first time since he drew it up, Junmyeon doesn’t follow his routine. He takes his nighttime meds with handfuls of water from the tap, then shuts himself in his room.  
  
The flower is still missing from his window. Hallucinations like the type he’s expected to experience.. they’re visual, not auditory. He’s just asked his hallucination to complete household tasks, and from the sound of it when he walked past the stairs, he is. The twisting in Junmyeon’s gut is a hard feeling to place, noticeable even while he’s busying himself with changing for bed, digging through the blobs of colour on the floor for a sleep shirt. All day it’s been like there’s a stone in his stomach, growing heavier and heavier as the stranger in his home has failed to disappear.    
  
All the small talk and joking was to soothe Junmyeon’s nerves as much as it was actually kind of nice to feel there was someone there to talk to. Nothing felt out of place in how he spoke or his replies to Junmyeon’s questions about life as a plant (or his groaning at the jokes, but that’s not worth reporting on). Aside from the whole possible-malicious-spirit thing, there’s been nothing surreal or nightmare-ish about it. Junmyeon leans back against his pillows. He’s unsure if he should be worried that something serious is happening in his brain or eyes, or if he should be asking one of the guys to take him to a shrine first thing tomorrow.  
  
He settles on neither, fishing his phone out of his pocket.  
  
On the other end of the call the reception is bad, making the answer tinny and distorted. It sounds like there’s music. “Taozi? Do you have a moment?” Junmyeon finds he’s covering his own ear, like it’ll help him hear through the noise on Zitao’s end better.  
  
“ _Junmahao_ ,” Zitao’s laugh crackles down the line, “ _Wait, wait. It’s noisy!_ ”  
  
Junmyeon waits. Hearing Zitao’s breathy laugh sent a flood of relief straight through him. He’s not alone. Downstairs there’s a thud, then another. Maybe it’s just his imagination that the air seems to rapidly cool. Yeah, he’s really not.  
  
The background noise is gone. “Can you hear me ok?” he asks, and Zitao just sighs. Obviously he can - he moved, after all. “Baby, I know you’re busy. I just wanted an answer to something. Super quick.”  
  
“ _Super quick_ ,” Zitao echoes, but he doesn’t sound impatient. He never really does anymore, with Junmyeon. But wherever he was he must have stepped outside to take the call; Junmyeon doesn’t want to take up too much of his time.   
  
“You know how you’ve always been intuitive to spiritual things?” Junmyeon blinks across at the opposite wall. There’s no sane-sounding way to ask this. But it’s Zitao, who isn’t quiet about existing on a higher plane than most. So, deep breath and just say it as it is. “I’ve either..found, or I’m hallucinating a spirit. And- and now he’s in my house. I gave him a sweater? I was warned how real the hallucinations can _look_ , but I’ve touched him several times. Anyway,” he inhales sharply. Now he’s relaying this, he’s probably made some questionable decisions today. “I’m sorry, I know this is..I didn’t know who else to ask. Without just being taken straight to hospital, anyway. I’ve never had a hallucination before so maybe it is just..but they can’t _feel_ real?” his throat tightens as he finally voices that thought. He’s fretting again, it’s bad for him. “So I just, I trust your opinion, so I wondered what you thought.”  
  
Junmyeon shouldn’t mind being taken to his specialist and reassured this is normal. Really, deep down, he’d have done that within the first hour if he’d believed it was that simple. He kind of wants someone else to be as doubtful as he is. “Taozi baby?” Junmyeon says into the silence, “Can you still hear me?”  
  
Zitao finally makes a small sound. “What does it want?” He sounds terrified, so, that’s kind of reassuring in it’s own way. He’s always maintained he can sense the otherworldly, he’s never made any claims about knowing what to do about it.  
  
“Um.” Other than sulking about having to introduce himself he hasn’t really offered much information. He’s just kind of sat around all day, being a nuisance. But he did offer to help. “He seems friendly.”  
  
Zitao squawks at that, and Junmyeon covers his phone to muffle the sound. He’s kind of expecting his guest to float up through the floor any moment and catch him calling for help, but maybe he’s not that kind of spirit. He felt pretty solid for walking through walls.   
  
“He said normally his type of spirit would be malicious, but because I’d cared for him.. you know that big bush at the end of the garden? The red one.”  
  
“ _So it’s a spirit from nature? Not a ghost._ ” Zitao sounds considerably calmer about that fact, but then his tone turns stern, “ _But Junmahao, a lot of spirits are smart. Even if they’re not harmful, they play tricks on humans. Even if they’re not all that smart they like playing tricks anyway. That’s not safe._ “  
  
“I think he was being honest,” Junmyeon frowns. They’ve essentially spent a day together, and all the big lump has done is trail around after him or lie on the couch. Stress and fatigue make his sight worse; by evening he could really only identify him by his hair. Earlier in the day he’d made out those big eyes clear enough to want to believe him. Junmyeon’s had enough misfortune recently without his favourite plant double crossing him.  
  
“ _So,_ ” Zitao says, “ _I believe you. That it’s not just your eyes. Text me updates, that way if he kills you I’ll have proof_.”  
  
Junmyeon groans. Never one to think before he speaks, his favourite baby boy. “Taozi.”  
  
“ _Or mail me! Whatever is easiest. I love you, but I have to go back_.”  
  
“Of course. Thank you for listening, baby. I feel better about it.” Junmyeon cuts the call after Zitao’s made a loud kissing sound in response. He did feel better about it while they were talking, at least. Now it’s silent again the worry is creeping straight back in. But maybe it’s partly just because anything new and unexpected worries Junmyeon these days, and anything that could signify a change in his condition freaks him out.   
  
Would he rather be hallucinating or dealing with a spirit? Dealing with a spirit would be preferable, really. No changes to medication, no new tests, no more of those eye drops that wipe out the little peripheral vision he has. No potential for more hallucinations worse than this. His camellia has done nothing harmful other than scare the heck out of him, and even that’s only been by existing in the first place. The way his tone had softened when he’d talked of Junmyeon treasuring his flowers..Junmyeon feels a pang of guilt thinking about that.  
  
There’s a knock on the door, and he startles so hard he drops his phone onto the bed. Knocking first doesn’t rule out that he _could_ just walk straight through it if he wanted. “You can come in?” Junmyeon calls uncertainly.  
  
The top of his camellia’s red head narrowly misses the doorframe. He’s very tall, Junmyeon knows from standing beside him, but in Junmyeon’s cosy attic room it’s even more noticeable. For a long moment he stays there, just looking around. Then steps in and pulls the door closed behind himself.  
  
“There’s a hamper there,” Junmyeon says as he approaches the space between the window and the foot of bed, then, ugh, idiot. He can see just fine.   
  
Red hair shaking side to side. “I know the layout. Just, my perspective is always from over there.” He gestures to the windowsill with his whole arm so Junmyeon can make out the movement.  
  
“That’s an invasion of privacy,” Junmyeon mutters down at his hands, turning his retrieved phone over between them. He’s (kind of) seen all there is to see of this plant spirit, and apparently it’s seen all of him too. And god knows what else, if he’s always been aware of what Junmyeon’s doing in rooms his flowers have been, but it doesn’t really feel like it matters. He’s only 50% likely to be real.  
  
“You’re the one that brought me in here,” he sniffs, planting his hands on his hips, “Anyway, it’s not like that. I could sense light. And temperature, some sounds, changes in the air. I could feel it,” his tone drops suddenly, soft gravel, “When you spoke to me. Plants can sense intent, you know? We grow better when nice things are said to us.”  
  
Junmyeon’s almost struck with shyness. It’s..odd, having an inanimate object suddenly fully aware of how you feel for it. If this really is a hallucination his subconscious has got a lot to answer for. “There was a study on rice about that. At a school. It proved that the rice sample that had nice things said to it only didn’t spoil as fast because of the carbon dioxide breathed onto it.”   
  
A heavy sigh. “Did they ask a plant?”  
  
“I don’t think they’d take my word for it if I contacted them to say I’ve been told differently.”  
  
Another sigh. Junmyeon can make out that he’s shifting his weight uncomfortably, trying to keep his feet off of the clothes strewn over the floor. “May I stay?” he asks, red head bowed down, “I’ve always..been here, you know? I know that you’re safe if I’m here with you.”  
  
Maybe it’s just the fatigue, or maybe it’s because he’s really hit rock bottom with the whole isolation thing, but Junmyeon’s frustration with this situation abruptly lifts. That’s..that’s really nice. His flower looking over him, when he’s always felt so reassured by having it around. So yeah, why not.  
  
“You can stay. And you can get the light so I don’t have to literally fall into bed for once.” He smiles at how his camellia seems to get the spring back in his step at being given another job. From what Junmyeon can make out he’s pretty cute, so. There’s worse ways to spend a night.  
  
For a spirit he definitely seems to weigh as much as a human. He clambers onto the bed on his hands and knees and it jogs Junmyeon a little. Texting Zitao is slow work. He was missing keys even before the disruption; they keep falling away from where he aims his finger. He adds that he loves him on the end of the brief update, just in case.   
  
In case of what, Junmyeon wonders as he sets his alarm and feels for the nightstand to leave his phone on, he’s not sure. In case he’s eaten, or mysteriously vanishes into fog, or he finds out this was just a new weird and (not) wonderful side-effect of his condition and there was no cause for spooking either of them.  
  
“Is it strange being in a bed?” he asks, turning onto his side facing the spirit and curling up tight.  
  
“Everything about having limbs and walking around is strange. Talking is strange. Seeing where you go between here and the garden is- ah,” his deep voice cracks as Junmyeon wriggles close. He fumbles trying to give Junmyeon space that he clearly doesn’t want, freezing with an arm raised out of the way and Junmyeon curled in a little ball against his chest. “Ok. Is this..”   
  
Junmyeon doesn’t give him any advice on where to put his arm. Tomorrow he can call the hospital and make an appointment. Maybe he will mention that he’s concerned by how prolonged and vivid the hallucination was. Right now he’s not.  
  
“I’d like if you were real,” he says, feeling the silly smile taking up his face. “I love my.. my garden makes me so happy. And you, you know, the camellia was what made me take it up. You’re so bright and beautiful. After all that time in hospital and then being stuck in here, you were the first thing to give me hope.”  
  
His camellia huffs. “Well, I was. I’m not as impressive in human form, huh.”  
  
“I can still see you,” Junmyeon pouts and pulls that fumbling arm around himself. If he’s going to hallucinate some company he’s making the most of it. “As much as I can see anything, but you’re still so bright.”  
  
Silence follows. Total silence - there’s no heartbeat to hear in his chest. He doesn’t breathe, either, Junmyeon finds after a moment of concentrated listening. But this close to him Junmyeon can hear that the spirit makes these sounds when he moves, deep where his joints would be, like roots being pulled from the ground. This is so vivid, but wooziness is overtaking how sensibly he can even think about it anymore.  
  
It’s not like Junmyeon had any company here before he lost his sight anyway, but somehow the nights have seemed lonelier. Maybe it’s just because his routine is so..well, routine, now with his meds and the extra time allowed for slow, cautious movements. His home is a route carefully followed. Anxiety is always sharing the bed with him, when he’s trying to sleep and more effective than his alarm for getting him up in the mornings. He rarely even relieves stress by getting off anymore, out of some paranoia that the exertion will upset his vision. Everything from lack of sleep to arguing with his mother on the phone seems to effect how much sight he’ll have for the day ahead. He never really feels like it anyway.  
  
Junmyeon wriggles in more comfortably under his camellia’s chin. “Do spirits sleep?”  
  
He hums thoughtfully. “It’s my first day, so I guess I’ll find out. Flowers close their petals when there’s no sun.”   
  
“That’s true.” Junmyeon fidgets again, readjusting the arm around his waist. It’s been so, so long since he got some decent intimacy. Making the most of his brain playing tricks on him probably, sadly, isn’t his most desperate act of loneliness since he became a case of medical negligence. His camellia seems to be getting the hang of this now. He rests his cheek in Junmyeon’s hair, and Junmyeon drifts wishing he could be held like this for real.  
  
  
  
Six hours later he realises that he is.  
  
  
“I’ve been real since yesterday,” his camellia sounds like he’s pouting. “I _knew_ you didn’t believe me. I’m real! We spent an entire day together and you really thought I was just going to disappear.”   
  
It doesn’t help the situation that Junmyeon coughs out a little laugh, but. It’s his plant, in his bed, sulking. His heart is pounding and his hands are trembling, but it’s not like he was entirely convinced this wouldn’t happen. It just really is now, and he really has to deal with it. “It’s just..”  
  
“You said last night! You said you’d like me to be real. And I am, so wh-“  
  
“Because!” Junmyeon raises his voice, “I was exhausted and it’s been god knows how long since I had someone to sleep with. I was just- I just, I had a moment. It seemed nice. I didn’t really think a plant had just-“  
  
“I’m not _a plant_ ,” he cuts in, “Not just a plant. I’m your- if I wasn’t special this wouldn’t have happened.”  
  
Junmyeon’s still standing with his back to the closet, where he ended up after scrambling out of bed when he woke to find he still had company. Even sitting the spirit seems to nearly be eye level with him. If he really focuses he can see the downturned line of his mouth.  
  
“You could name me. If you want, I mean. I dunno. If it’d make me seem more real. Because I _am_ , Junmyeon.”   
  
Augh. Junmyeon doesn’t know whether to be frustrated in return or feel bad. He didn’t _ask_ the plant to transfer it’s spirit to a human form. “If you didn’t ever eavesdrop on a conversation about it, humans generally don’t respond well to spirits just turning up and barging into their homes.”  
  
“I’m not _haunting_ you,” he says incredulously, “I thought you liked having me, and I thought I’d be more use to you, and I _thought_ you would be happier that I.. it wasn’t- it’s not _easy_ to do this.”  
  
Junmyeon rubs his palms over his face. The bright flash of red is still there when he takes them away. “I’m just.. I know. I know it must be really..something, to do what you’ve done. I’m just trying to get my head around it. More use to me?”  
  
His red head nods earnestly. “I know what happened. Your accident, and the side effect of the treatment- I know your friends look after you. I know you get lonely. And I know you never go anywhere unless they take you, and I know you’re struggling with how to get back into doing normal things.” He pauses, but Junmyeon doesn’t have any argument to make with that. He folds his big hands over his chest, covering where his heart would be. “You’ve always treasured me, and that’s the greatest- the best thing, for a plant, you know? That’s the most fulfilled we can be. You said I help, I’ve- I’ve been here with you this whole time, and I just wanted to do more.”  
  
God. _God_ , the last thing Junmyeon needs is more disruption. More to have to worry about when he already expends so much energy on routines and check ups and just trying to get through a single day without wondering if there’s any _point_. He isn’t prepared for dealing with a change on this scale. “I just liked looking at you. At the flowers,” he says, and the big, human incarnate of those flowers wordlessly slips out of his bed and leaves.  
  
He goes out through the door, like a human. His footsteps are loud down the stairs, and the door that slams shut is the back one. It’s clear and sunny today; Junmyeon peers out of the edge of his bedroom window and easily spots the red blob pacing back and forth by the flowerbed.  
  
  
  
“I’m tired.”   
  
Junmyeon blinks his eyes open. For the last hour he’s been listening to podcasts; 20 minute shows discussing daily life in China. He didn’t register that the last one had ended, not quite asleep as he imagined visiting Zitao and his partner and seeing.. “You’re..?” he plucks out his headphones and squirms upright on the couch.  
  
“Tired. I’m really tired,” says the blurry shape, backlit by the window. Junmyeon sets his phone aside on the coffee table, and his camellia steps around to sit opposite him.  
  
Junmyeon watches him sink down, his form more shrunken in than it was when he’d sat there yesterday. “Understandably,” he says softly, “You’ve done a really big thing for such a small flower.”   
  
For a moment Junmyeon hesitates, but then he reaches out. His aim often isn’t great thanks to his lack of depth perception, but his camellia meets him half way. His hair is as soft and silky as his petals, and he eagerly pushes into the palm of Junmyeon’s hand. Junmyeon gasps. His heart speeds. Slower than it had this morning, but it’s fast enough to feel pounding in his chest. Yesterday he hadn’t taken this seriously. Hadn’t really thought he was actually touching a spirit.   
  
Yesterday the spirit had been mild mannered about Junmyeon not entirely believing he was real, in the same way Junmyeon’s panic was understated because he may well not have been. “I imagined this would go differently,” he says, head bowed, “I guess I did know that you probably wouldn’t just accept it immediately, but.”  
  
Junmyeon frowns. He’s not normally one to apologise first, but in this case he can make an exception. It’s not every day you offend something that’s travelled between planes to see you. “I said all the wrong things earlier, and they came out mean. I’m just not good at anything happening too fast, you know? I get drained so easily. My moods are always up and down..I guess you probably know that already.”  
  
“I know,” his camellia agrees, “And I know you weren’t thinking of me that way, but I’ve been with you for a long time. I’ve already seen how far you’ve come from the first few weeks. I was so worried about you.”  
  
It’s supposed to be good for Junmyeon to acknowledge what happened - his recovery isn’t only physical, after all. He drops his hands back into his lap to wring them. “I was completely blind for a few hours when it first happened. They caught the swelling in time, obviously, but the first days.. It was all white? People always assume it’ll be black. I couldn’t even make out where the bed ended. For a while there was no colour at all.”  
  
His camellia nods solemnly. His hand moves to his face, maybe rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Baekhyun, I think? Brought me in here to welcome you home. He-“  
  
“Floated you in the kitchen sink, I remember,” Junmyeon smiles fondly. He really lucked out with the support he’s had. “And you were so bright. At that point I never imagined I’d see anything that beautiful again.”  
  
It’s not a tense silence that follows. Junmyeon picks at a loose thread on the inner seam of his sleeve. He doesn’t really like thinking back to a phase he hasn’t progressed far from. “Ah, anyway,” he tilts his head, trying to line the most functional patch of vision up with the face opposite. “How does Chanyeol sound? I’ve been thinking about it all day.”  
  
He snorts. “And that’s what you came up with?”  
  
Without thinking that this is still pretty weird, and he maybe shouldn’t be angering something otherworldly, Junmyeon reaches across and swipes at Chanyeol’s knee. Yeah he did get it off a juice carton, but it sounded cute and sort of relevant to something that grew in the garden. His fingers barely graze him, but Chanyeol jolts backwards so abruptly his feet come up off the floor and his long legs flail, like he’s a bug falling onto its back.  
  
  
When night comes Chanyeol scrambles up ahead of Junmyeon and wordlessly starts the routine. Junmyeon lets him. He takes his meds, throws his socks in the direction of the hamper, props up against the pillows to email Zitao from his tablet before bed.  
  
_Still alive. We argued. He was upset that I wasn’t more appreciative. It’s hard to feel as familiar with him as he seems to with me. I named him Chanyeol, he asked me to pick something. Hope you and Sehunnie are good_ ♡  
  
Soon Chanyeol joins him, stumbling his way around to his side of the bed after getting the light.  
  
“I’ll still be here tomorrow morning,” Chanyeol warns. Junmyeon hadn’t considered that just refusing to keep him could be an option. “When you wake up, you have to look at my pet- my hair, and you go ‘good morning little flower’, like usual. Ok?”  
  
“You were much quieter when you lived on the window.”  
  
“ _You_ were much quieter when I lived on the window,” Chanyeol counters.  
  
Junmyeon tuts and turns onto his side. He always uses his phone as an alarm rather than the tablet, but his accounts are all linked. He opens the mail notification after setting his usual alarm. Zitao’s replied with two lines.  
  
 _we’re good xxxxxxx  
once you name something it never goes away  
_  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
Chanyeol is still tired the following morning. So much so that Junmyeon struggles to get out from under the arm thrown across his chest. When did that even happen? Junmyeon ensured Chanyeol knew that first night was strictly because Junmyeon hadn’t realised there’d be a morning after. For a plant he seems to weigh just as much as a human. A big human, at that.  
  
“Good morning,” Junmyeon yawns. Habitually he first looks to the windowsill. The container is still there, standing empty. If he really screws up his eyes he can make out the outline of it. Chanyeol’s lying on his back, flat out like he’s been dropped there. It feels kind of stupid and embarrassing, but after a long look at his hair, Junmyeon adds, “Little flower.”  
  
No response. Fine, he tried being nice.   
  
“Chanyeol, come on.” Junmyeon nudges him gently. Plants don’t sleep, so Chanyeol said, but he’s doing a good impression of someone who’s out cold. “Chanyeol, it’s morning,” he raises his voice and pushes hard at Chanyeol’s shoulder. It’s not like he couldn’t just get up and go downstairs without him, really. This is all so-  
  
“Don’t,” Chanyeol finally responds. He sounds hoarse. “Don’t push.”  
  
Junmyeon crosses his arms around himself. “You weren’t doing anything, it was starting to worry me. You’ve done plenty enough of that already.”  
  
“I don’t have any energy.” With a groan Chanyeol eases himself up against the pillows. He’s still wearing the sweater Junmyeon forced him into, the fit a little too small and the fabric pulling across his shoulders as he slowly sits upright. “I don’t understand.”  
  
Junmyeon doesn’t insult him by asking if he needs anything mortal for sustenance. Though he doesn’t really know what else to offer an otherworldly being. Well, other than.. He is a plant, after all.  
  
  
“I didn’t realise I’d need to do anything like this.” Chanyeol’s gulped down three glasses of water already. Junmyeon guiltily refills it for him each time. He’s an idiot, and he hadn’t even thought to offer Chanyeol anything while he was so wrapped up in all of this happening. “Thanks,” Chanyeol takes the slippery glass from his hands with care, “You know, like, more spirit than plant? But I guess we all need something to give us energy.”  
  
That’s true. There’s no easy way to go about eating humans, if those are mainly what your diet consists of. Maybe malicious spirits are just doing what they have to do, Junmyeon considers as Chanyeol drains his fourth glass.  
  
  
After the disrupted start to his morning, Junmyeon’s busy puttering, as he always does. Finding things to shift from coffee table to bookcase and limiting his daytime tv consumption only to shows he actually has some interest in, so his day has some semblance of productivity. When he completes his circuit of the lower floor of his home it’s to find Chanyeol taking up the entire couch, curled in on himself but still so large.  
  
“I thought you didn’t sleep.” Junmyeon can’t really make out Chanyeol’s expression, but the black smudges of his eyes don’t look the right size to be open. He has a date with the tv for right about now and Chanyeol’s where he needs to be. Honestly, he just materialises and takes up as much space as he wants.  
  
“Not sleeping. I still..” Chanyeol’s been out of the ground for two whole days now. Watering him seemed to be the solution, but it’s only been an hour and he’s wilting again. “I didn’t have the energy to stand.” He couldn’t even swallow most of the food Junmyeon offered alongside the water.  
  
“I don’t know what to suggest,” Junmyeon admits, sinking to his knees beside the couch. Chanyeol turns towards him. His movements are slow and stiff like his body is seizing up, like a stem turns hard and brittle. In human form he’s big and he’s _annoying_ , and Junmyeon’s still struggling to associate this stranger with something he’s loved so dearly. But Junmyeon’s taken good care of him all these years, both the bush in the garden and the flowers he’d bring indoors. He rests a hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“How I imagine catching mites feels,” Chanyeol mutters, looking down at Junmyeon’s hand on him. It’s a damn sight warmer than Junmyeon has been towards him so far. “I thought you were good with plants. Don’t you have any ideas?”  
  
Junmyeon laughs, ducking his head down. “I’m really not. I enjoy it, but I don’t know what I’m doing. Unfortunately.” He squeezes Chanyeol’s shoulder. He’s solid, but not in the same way flesh and muscle feels under hand. More like a bag filled with sand. “I’m sorry if I seemed more competent than I am.”  
  
“I’ve never felt like you didn’t know how to care for me.” Chanyeol drops his head back with a long sigh. “I didn’t do this just so you’d continue having to.”  
  
“Well,” Junmyeon says, then gives Chanyeol a pat before pulling his hand back and standing. Chanyeol was evasive the first time he asked, so he still doesn’t know exactly why Chanyeol _did_ do this, but if he wants to find out he needs to focus on keeping him on this plane of existence first. “I’ll think of something. I’ve always managed so far, right?” So far he hasn’t had all that many garden disasters doing things by intuition and hope.  
  
Junmyeon grabs his tablet from the coffee table and sits on the arm of the couch. The end where Chanyeol’s feet are, so he can look over the full form of him now and then to make sure he’s still all there.  
  
It would be insensitive to ask his tablet _camellia dying_ out loud, so he slowly types with one finger. While it loads he wonders if things would just go back to normal if Chanyeol ran out of energy in this form. Maybe that makes him an awful person, hoping this will end so he can go back to his routines and focusing on his recovery. Slow as that’s going. About as slow as his stupid wifi.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says, and Junmyeon jolts in surprise. “For worrying you. I know it’s bad for you to get stressed about things.”  
  
It’s instinctive to dismiss him and say it’s fine, but it’s really not. The last thing Junmyeon needed at a time like this is even more to fret over. He hums, holding the screen closer to his face and focusing very hard on the lines of text that have loaded.  
  
“And scaring you, I really didn’t mean to scare you. And..and just assuming I could stay indoors. You’re.. shit, I’m sorry.” Chanyeol rubs a hand over his face and up through his hair, “You’re the same to me as always, but I didn’t think through how weird it would be for you to see me in a different form suddenly. And I-“  
  
“Getting upset just makes your health worsen,” Junmyeon cuts in. That’s all..yeah, he appreciates the apology. But how he feels about having his favourite plant gone and this big lump of a human in its place is irrelevant right now. He taps away from the search and hovers over his mail app. Maybe this is more of a spirit issue than a plant issue?  
  
It’s not like Zitao actually knows anything useful about this stuff, but he knows it’s happening and doesn’t think Junmyeon’s gone insane. But mailing him to ask what to do could leave them waiting hours with Chanyeol deteriorating, and he probably wouldn’t have an answer. It just feels like it would help, because Zitao looks at things simplistically and doesn’t worry too much and always seems to get good results.  
  
Junmyeon folds the case shut over his tablet. The simplest way to look at it is that Chanyeol needed water, so it’s a plant thing. And he’s out of the ground, so he’s not getting nutrients anymore.   
  
“Oh.” Junmyeon stands so fast he nearly overbalances. “We’ve been thinking about this too hard. Chanyeol, we’re _idiots_.”  
  
Chanyeol lifts his head. His neck creaks the same way Junmyeon had heard when Chanyeol held him the first night, like roots being pulled from dense earth. But loud enough to hear in the room, which..that can’t be good. “We are?”  
  
“We really are.” Junmyeon puts his tablet back on the table and gives Chanyeol’s knee a reassuring pat. “I’ll be right back. I know exactly what you need.”  
  
The plastic sack resting against the side of the house is a new one. Jongdae only brought it over two weeks ago, slit the top for Junmyeon and then with this bad weather he’s barely used it. Junmyeon rolls up his sleeves and digs both hands into the opening of the sack, scooping out full handfuls of soil. He hurries back inside, dropping specks of dirt in a trail along the rug. Junmyeon doesn’t go anywhere at a great speed anymore, and the knock his elbow and knee take on the doorframe and coffee table is a good reminder of why. Stupid peripheral vision, stupid depth perception, stupid idiot human not realising why Chanyeol felt so ill sooner.  
  
“Are you alright?” Chanyeol looks up at Junmyeon in concern. Then Junmyeon’s small, dirty hands come into his line of vision. “Is that..?”  
  
“I’ll live.” Junmyeon presses the sides of his palms together and opens his fists. More dirt spills out onto the floor. Some is dry and powdery, some dark and clumped from rain getting into the bag. “Eat it,” he says. Chanyeol doesn’t move. “It’s your favourite. It’s the same kind I always use, you’ve always liked it.” Junmyeon moves closer. A clot of soil large enough for him to see hits the couch and breaks, scattering powdered dirt. “You’re a _plant_ , Chanyeol, just eat it.”  
  
And so he does. One hesitant pinch of soil, a relieved groan, and then he’s leaning over the side of the couch, catching Junmyeon’s wrists in one big hand to pull him in closer. Pressing his hungry mouth into Junmyeon’s palms.  
  
Going from zero human intimacy in months to _this_ all in five seconds twists in Junmyeon’s gut. He focuses on the throb in his knee instead, then Chanyeol’s tongue presses into the dip between his fingers.  
  
“We need to get you a bowl of your own,” Junmyeon says weakly. Chanyeol’s petal-red head bobs in agreement. His mouth is too full to speak.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“He feels guilty,” Chanyeol says, and Junmyeon snatches his phone back.  
  
“He did not say that,” Junmyeon waves the screen at Chanyeol to remind him that the font is by far big and bold enough for Junmyeon to see himself. “I asked you to read his text out to me, not decipher it.”  
  
Chanyeol tuts. “Your guilty friend Kyungsoo says he’s going to the import store in town and wondered if you’d like to come along. And he can pick you up in ten minutes, if you wanna go. And he’s offering because-”  
  
“Can you see what other people are doing? Like, can you sense things from a distance?”  
  
This time he rolls his eyes. Junmyeon can’t see, but he can sense it. Little shit. “I just exist, Junmyeon. Honestly. I’m just here, I don’t do any of that spooky stuff.” He actually does quite a lot of other stuff. Around the house. Just nothing of the unworldly variety. “I just know he feels guilty because you’ve been stuck in the house in the rain for days. And it was his turn to visit and he didn’t have time.”  
  
Junmyeon squints down at his phone. He doesn’t like how that makes it sound as though his friends slot _visit Junmyeon_ into their schedules alongside _walk the dog_. “I don’t think I like you knowing so much about what I do. But you can still text back for me,” he pushes his phone into the vague direction of Chanyeol’s hands. Chanyeol fumbles to get hold of it before Junmyeon lets go. “Tell him I want to come.”  
  
“I only know because you told me.”  
  
“I didn’t know you were listening in,” Junmyeon reminds him for maybe the 80th time. For a moment he watches Chanyeol typing in slow, determined prods with his middle finger. They probably type as slowly as each other, but at least Junmyeon’s less tired at the end of it when Chanyeol obediently does it for him. He should maybe ask if Chanyeol will be alright here on his own, but he also doesn’t want to give the impression that he cares what Chanyeol does.   
  
Chanyeol hits send and passes the phone back, not letting go until it’s safely in Junmyeon’s grip. “What’s an import store?”  
  
“A place that has food from around the world. Kyungsoo likes cooking, he buys ingredients from there. They have the real thing,” Junmyeon explains as he makes his way down the hall. He skirts the wall with his fingertips for balance, and Chanyeol tails along close behind like a spook. He doesn’t really give off an aura or a cold chill or anything, but Junmyeon’s coming to just get a sense of when he’s right there like a second shadow. “Things like dairy, chocolate, wine. We produce our own, but it uses different techniques and ingredients. It’s twice as expensive to buy European chocolate. That’s why Kyungsoo only lets me go there a few times a year.”  
  
“Oh,” Chanyeol says in feigned understanding.   
  
He probably didn’t even know Junmyeon’s street isn’t the entire world, and Junmyeon doesn’t have the energy to explain that it’s funny. You know, how he has so much money in the bank now, but Kyungsoo still lays down the law about how many chocolate seashells he’s allowed to waste it on.  
  
It’s on the tip of Junmyeon’s tongue to ask if Chanyeol wants anything. Not because he will - he can’t eat, alcohol would probably poison him, and he’s certainly not having any criminally expensive soap - but, it’s just what you do when there’s someone else at home. But Chanyeol’s big mouth has outweighed any endearment Junmyeon was feeling towards his company, so he just wedges his feet into his sneakers.  
  
Normally Junmyeon waits on the stairs until the bell rings, but at risk of Kyungsoo seeing Chanyeol, he figures today he can wait on the path. It’s sunny again, it’ll be nice. “Behave while I’m gone,” he warns, “Don’t forget to eat.”  
  
“I will. I won’t,” Chanyeol says cheerfully and takes two long steps into Junmyeon’s space, cornering him against the door. Junmyeon looks up at him, and it’s the first time he’s seen him this close in good light. He’s probably very good looking. The overall shape and placement of his features seems to be, from the fuzzy fragments Junmyeon can make out. It’s like if he could just turn a dial and bring the sharpness of his focus in a little better..  
  
Chanyeol ducks in and pecks his forehead. If he could see better maybe he’d have seen that coming. As is he startles, elbow knocking against the door. Ow.  
  
“What is it you say when people leave? There’s a thing you say, right?”  
  
“You just injured me,” Junmyeon protests. Chanyeol starts fussing with straightening the hem of his jacket and getting the folds of the hood sitting just right. “Hey- you can’t-“  
  
“Take care! That’s it,” Chanyeol’s all hands and his big, loud voice, and Junmyeon just gives in and lets himself be organised. “I remembered.”  
  
“You’ve already hurt me before I even left,” Junmyeon points out, raising his elbow. Stupid big thing going around kissing and fluffing people up without even asking.   
  
“Have fun with your friend,” Chanyeol says brightly.   
  
“You’re behind on water,” Junmyeon replies for lack of anything better to say. He shuts the door behind himself without looking back.  
  
  
  
“So who was the murderer?”  
  
The lines in the road blur together into one long, winding trail. There’s a good contrast between the black and white. “Hm?”  
  
Kyungsoo tilts his head nearer so Junmyeon can hear over the sound of the radio. “The murderer in that podcast. Didn’t you say it was an episode away from the reveal?”  
  
Oh, that. “Yeah, I haven’t gotten around to listening yet. You’ll be the first to know when I find out.”  
  
“Everything been good this week?” Kyungsoo sounds puzzled. Rightly so - Junmyeon listens to his updates religiously (productivity, routine), especially when the weather doesn’t lend itself to gardening.  
  
It hasn’t been bad as such. He can’t say his time has been kind of taken up by the fact his plant is now a human, and is probably lying on the couch playing Crossy Road as they speak. It’d be hard to explain without sounding crazy, but Chanyeol’s really not alarming once you’re used to the concept. He just kind of exists, munching on soil and complaining about everything from Junmyeon’s lack of organisation to the tone of his friend’s texts.  
  
“Just been really tired, I didn’t have the focus for it.” Junmyeon touches his fingers to his forehead, then focuses back on the road.  
  
  
It’s just routine now that Kyungsoo walks around to the passenger door, standing beside it like he’s some bodyguard. Junmyeon makes it out safely, as he has done for the last few months. It was only the first shaky few outings that he struggled with his feet and the sudden lack of depth perception. Still, no one wants him falling.  
  
“It’s been a while since we’ve been,” Junmyeon smiles, and maybe Kyungsoo’s expression turns concerned at how he speeds ahead on his own. He doesn’t want anyone to worry that he’s going to fall. He doesn’t want anyone to _know_ there are people worried for him.  
  
  
It’s frustrating, because Junmyeon usually loves coming here. He loves just getting out of the house for a while and in new colours and sounds and different air to breathe, but what Chanyeol said is weighing on him. They wouldn’t all be sacrificing their time to help Junmyeon if it weren’t for how close they are. The strength of their friendship has never been an issue, it’s just..none of them had really found that time for each other until this happened. Scheduling him in.  
  
They make careful conversation, filtering out the fun in their lives so Junmyeon won’t feel he’s missing out. Not that he _wants_ a family like Jongdae, or a big wedding overseas like Baekhyun. Sure he’d love his boring, tiring job back and sometimes wants to climb the walls because it’s not viable, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t rooting for Kyungsoo in his work.  
  
“Interested?” Kyungsoo’s voice suddenly comes from beside Junmyeon.  
  
He jolts, eyes darting over the labels of the bottles he’d been zoned out in front of. They’re all heavy dark green glass with bold white text on the labels. Junmyeon’s flustered and can’t get the clearer patch of vision to centre on anything useful.  
  
“Fancy oils,” Kyungsoo taps a finger against one and pauses just long enough for Junmyeon to correct him. He doesn’t. “Says it’s light and flavourless. For that price you’d _want_ it to taste of something..”  
  
“Ah.” Junmyeon purses his lips. He could have read it if he’d had time to focus. But he can’t focus his sight or his mind right now. That little rise of panic starts to come up into his throat when his surroundings are hard to get firmly grounded in. He gets a little dizzy sometimes. Sometimes he wonders if Baekhyun’s partner really doesn’t mind that they link arms.  
  
He doesn’t like second guessing all of these things. When his sight was at its worst and the appointments and test were unrelenting they’d practically got a rota for who’s turn it was to take him. Because they’re good friends and they want to, and he’d have done the exact same thing had it been one of them. But he has a lot of time for dwelling, and now he also has Chanyeol acting as an audible intrusive thought.  
  
Kyungsoo’s juggling three containers of herbs to compare the labels and figure out where the difference in cost is when Junmyeon snags his sleeve near the elbow.  
  
“I’m sorry you have to do this.”  
  
“What?” Kyungsoo looks back to him for a long moment before returning the boxes to the shelf. He turns fully, and Junmyeon’s trying really hard not to feel like he should just disappear. “Junmyeon, no. Don’t even think about that, you know we’re all happy to help out with anything you need. It’s no problem.”  
  
“We never just..” Kyungsoo’s hand rests warm on his forearm, reassuringly firm. “Do normal things together anymore. We don’t get to just be friends without you having to do more,” he says, because that’s as close as he can get to being honest about his ugly feelings. Their lives continued. Everything drained from his. He just sits around waiting for someone to pay attention to him, and that’s not what their friendships should be.  
  
“We will,” Kyungsoo leans close, voice low. This aisle is practically empty, but they both like their privacy. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You can’t rush this.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“It’s barely been any time at all, Junmyeonnie. Remember when..” There’s a sound just behind them, reminding Junmyeon of where they are. Kyungsoo’s strong hand squeezes tight, then drops away. “..when Baekhyun had to use crutches? And we all had to wait on him and hold doors for months? We didn’t mind.”  
  
Junmyeon misses his touch already. He nods, folding his arms around himself.  
  
“Give yourself more time,” Kyungsoo says, gentle gentle. He picks one of the boxes back up from the shelf and places it in with his other items. He can be heavy handed with people, but he’s always careful and methodical about his cooking from start to finish. “We’ll be here, however you need us. Ok?” he nods, and Junmyeon finds himself returning it.  
  
There’s a bench just outside, tucked out of the way in the shadows between pools of lights from the stores either side. Junmyeon waits for Kyungsoo there, ankles crossed and swinging his feet. Disappointment weighs heavy on him, adding to the exhaustion of processing so much colour and sound. Whether he’s disappointed he didn’t say what he wanted or hear what he wanted he’s not sure. He closes his eyes and thinks of red flowers floating in his kitchen sink.   
  
  
Kyungsoo offers to walk him to the door like always, but Junmyeon, a little frantically, waves his hands. It’s really fine, Kyungsoo’s taken enough time out of his day. He tries not to sound suspicious, like he’d tried to play off breaking his podcast routine.  
  
Kyungsoo blinks owlishly. “It’ll take a few seconds?”  
  
It’s very nice of him - of all of them - to be so considerate. But who knows what Chanyeol might be doing. Junmyeon’s got images of Kyungsoo opening the door to find a six foot tall spirit sitting on the mat waiting like a puppy. “I’m not rushing things,” Junmyeon smiles. Kyungsoo’s features shift in concern. “But I’m never going to start making progress if I can’t even walk that far by myself, right?”  
  
“Right,” Kyungsoo agrees slowly. He waits until Junmyeon is as far as the door before leaving. Junmyeon’s relieved he didn’t have to jab the key at the lock so many times with the sound of the engine reminding him he was being watched.  
  
  
Chanyeol is not-asleep on the couch again like he was two days ago, but lying comfortable and lazy this time. He has Junmyeon’s tablet on his chest and the sweater bunched up around his ribs.  
  
“Welcome home,” he says, and Junmyeon makes out the movement of him craning his head back to watch as Junmyeon approaches. “I did the dishes! And checked your food to make sure it wasn’t bad. You never check on it, you know? You need to in case it makes you sick. It’s kind of weird for me that you eat vegetables, they’re sort of like relatives? But they’re super good for your health, so..”   
  
While Chanyeol rambles Junmyeon narrows his eyes and takes a long look at the exposed stretch of skin, but there’s not really anything defined about it, even with him focusing. He wills himself to focus just that bit harder, but nope. Doesn’t work in eye examinations, doesn’t work on tummies. “What are you doing?” he asks, curling up on the opposite couch.  
  
Chanyeol wriggles upright, and if Junmyeon’s obviously staring at the soft folds of his belly he doesn’t seem to mind.  
  
“I was researching human anatomy. I don’t really know much about it. I don’t think I even have any of the inside stuff? Do you know how much intestine fits in a body? Weird. Super weird.” Chanyeol shudders at the thought, patting his tummy and then tugging the sweater back down.  
  
“I suppose you wouldn’t. Have it.” Junmyeon blinks and finally looks away. Male bodies are so good. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed taking an interest.  
  
For a moment Junmyeon’s distracted with that thought, but then Chanyeol asks how his trip out was, and all of the insides he has that Chanyeol doesn’t feel as though they turn to lead. Kyungsoo will probably text the others about what he said. It always kind of feels as though he’s slightly on the outside.  
  
“What if,” he says, then presses his lips back together so hard they turn white. He doesn’t talk about these things. Not to people. The only place he ever had to get his thoughts out was.. well.   
  
“What if?” Chanyeol leans closer, elbows rested on his knees. Camellia red hair, petal soft. A little flower that isn’t all that little at all anymore.  
  
What if, Junmyeon thinks, scratching at the back of his hair where it’s beginning to grow out long, and unclenches his jaw to let the rest of the thought out. “I know life will never go back to how it was. Back to normal will..you know, it’ll be a different normal, to what my old normal was. But when it happens, what if it’s ruined the things I had before? What if they can’t just be normal friends after having to care for me. They’ll always treat me differently. Everyone will, won’t they. Everyone I meet in the future. I’ll just be th-“  
  
“You won’t ‘just’ be anything,” Chanyeol interrupts, “You’re still you. And in time you’ll be more confident, so your friends won’t need to worry like they do now.”  
  
That’s not how this works. Junmyeon’s features set hard again. He shares his worries with the flowers because they don’t answer him back. They _care_ , evidently, or this one wouldn’t be here saying things he doesn’t want to hear. “Why am I even asking you,” he mutters down at his feet, “You’ve only been human a few weeks.”   
  
“I know,” Chanyeol agrees hesitantly, “But I’ve understood your situation and your concerns about it for a lot longer. That’s why I’m here, because you n-“  
  
“You don’t understand! You’ve never lived a human life, Chanyeol. What do you know about how people would treat me?” Junmyeon stares searchingly over Chanyeol’s features. He’s leaning close enough to see that his mouth is hanging open. And good, that’s good. Maybe shocking him into realising this isn’t something that’ll just get better because he’s turned up will stop him being so _annoying_. “Do you know how people with disabilities get treated? Do you know what people think- what people _say_ if they see someone like me?”  
  
Chanyeol’s linked his hands between his knees and is fidgeting with his fingers. “I know you have friends that love you,” he offers, and Junmyeon can’t help but laugh. Chanyeol winces.  
  
“Listen, Chanyeol,” the laugh carries into his voice. That’s how he used to deal with his classes when he had a whole room full of unreceptive listeners. When it gets hopeless, laugh. “I’m useless now, ok? No one is going to see me and think, oh, what a loved person, are they? They see a burden. Someone that can’t-“ contribute to society anymore, like his mother used to say. Those poor people, what’s the point in them? Junmyeon sucks in a breath. “You don’t even know what society _means_ , why am I even having this conversation with you.”  
  
“Because you need to talk about how you feel,” Chanyeol urges.   
  
Junmyeon focuses very hard on the patterned arm of the couch. He tries to forget someone is looking at him. He imagines burying down between the couch cushions and never having to talk to anyone ever again.   
  
“Alright.” Chanyeol leans back into his own space. His tone seems flatter. Junmyeon looks up. “It’s because you want me to agree. Your friends are always nice and you just want me to say bad things about you so you can believe them.”  
  
The sun is still sinking low in the sky when Junmyeon goes upstairs, slams his bedroom door, and climbs into bed. It’s uncomfortably warm under the covers in his clothes, but safe in this blanket cocoon is the only place he can bear to be. It makes it _worse_ that people care for him. It’s worse that no one is willing to let him hate himself, or openly worry about his future and what the point of him still taking up space is. All the while he was doing something with his life and pursuing finding a meaning to it all he felt worthwhile.  
  
Chanyeol’s not wrong - he has three amazing friends right here for him. He has Zitao, who visits, and Zitao’s partner still yet to meet. Jongdae’s children, Baekhyun’s husband and their dogs, Kyungsoo’s business. Hot air fills Junmyeon’s mouth as he chokes back a sob. He’s just _here_ , dropping things, tripping on things, barely able to distinguish his friends’ features at times. He doesn’t want to be envious of the lives they have ahead and he doesn’t want to only ever experience having a life vicariously through them. He doesn’t want to only ever experience anything again if someone is having to use their own energy to guide him through it.  
  
However much Junmyeon fills his head with podcasts and languages and information about flowers, none of it drowns out what’s always playing on his mind. He’s disabled, he’s vulnerable, he’s functionless. He’ll never work again, never travel again- fuck, he’ll probably never even kiss again, let alone date. That first night had been pathetic, when Junmyeon wasn’t sure if Chanyeol was real and had just enjoyed the company. Just told Chanyeol to hold him. It had been so nice, so stupid, so so stupid..  
  
It seems to take a long time for his mind to stop racing and sleep to finally weigh on him. Junmyeon doesn’t let himself wonder if Chanyeol is worrying. He remembers in fragments how his father cried and cried for everything the family had lost. They still have one son. He’s not sure if anyone’s ever said that to him in as many words, but he feels it in how distantly they speak to him. This is a kind of disappointment he’s powerless to stop being, wasting his past efforts at always finding respectable work, staying closeted, cutting his hair short and neat. He’d have liked it red like Chanyeol’s when he was younger. So red.. maybe he’s always had some affinity with it. Finally, he’s drifting.  
  
  
  
Junmyeon wakes up overheated, sticky and alone. He pushes the covers back and checks the windowsill, but he doesn’t see anything bright red until he’s counting his meds out into the palm of his hand.  
  
Morning drags on. He doesn’t spot Chanyeol easily and doesn’t look for him. Maybe he’s left, but it’s hard to wonder too much about where he could be when Junmyeon’s barely making it around his own damn kitchen unscathed this morning. His sight is more fragmented and foggy than it’s been in weeks. That’s what he gets for being so worked up - not allowed to feel emotions these days.  
  
Junmyeon doesn’t want to go looking for Chanyeol, but the knot of anxiety in his stomach won’t loosen all the while he’s in the house wondering where the spirit might be. If he’s even still here. Where would he go? Would he just turn back into a flower?  
  
There’s reassuring familiarity to the routine of preparing to go out in the garden, at least. Junmyeon wraps the cords of his gardening apron around himself once and ties a neat bow at his front, slow and methodical. He fills a can with water and carries it down the garden with both hands, careful not to let it spill. There’s still an empty space where the camellia bush once was.  
  
  
“Can I help?”  
  
Junmyeon’s shoulders hunch in surprise. He’d been so focused on tending to his not-so-little-anymore seedlings he hadn’t even heard Chanyeol approaching. So he’s still here. Junmyeon ignores the warm little soothe of relief and keeps tugging at the roots of a weed. “I like doing this by myself.”  
  
“I know,” Chanyeol mumbles, “Can I pass you things?”  
  
“Then I still wouldn’t be doing it myself, would I?” Junmyeon turns towards Chanyeol without looking up. His feet are bare. They step nearer, and suddenly everything is dark. “ _Chanyeol_. What are-“  
  
“Shading you from the sun.”   
  
“I need the sun so I can see what I’m doing.” In exasperation Junmyeon throws the limp weed in his hand at Chanyeol’s leg. He _is_ relieved that he’s still here, but it’s. A complicated emotion.  
  
Chanyeol steps away again, and for a moment his foot taps against the ground like an annoyed rabbit. “Fine! Fine.” He folds his arms across his chest and sits, right behind Junmyeon so he’s entirely out of his vision.   
  
“Now you’re sulking.” Junmyeon rolls his eyes. He leans back into the flowerbed and starts tugging at another weed. Behind him Chanyeol makes some kind of affronted snuffling sound.  
  
“I am not sulking, Kim Junmyeon. I’m protecting you from bugs.”  
  
  
  
Junmyeon eats instant noodles with a handful of spinach thrown in to wilt. Vitamins, and it doesn’t really taste once it’s stirred in. Chanyeol scrapes around his bowl of soil. Yesterday he mixed the water into it until it was thick and muddy, just for some variation. It was good, but Junmyeon hadn’t been here to see the mess yesterday.  
  
Junmyeon has a good imagination and bad peripheral vision. He finds if he tries really hard he can just about forget Chanyeol is even here. Eating alone, staring at the wall, wondering what pointless activity to do next to feel like he has some sense of purpose. That’s what he wanted back, right? But the rise of panic in his throat is so strong he sets his food aside. Being alone was..it’s not like he’s particularly enjoyed this company, but he hasn’t thought about not existing all the while Chanyeol’s been here.  
  
“They offered me counselling. I said no.” Junmyeon glances across to the blur of Chanyeol sat beside him. “It was too soon. I couldn’t have talked to someone about how this made me feel. I was still in shock, you know? Anything I’d had to say wouldn’t have made sense.”  
  
“I don’t.. counselling? Sorry.” Chanyeol frowns and stabs his spoon into a clump of soil. “Haven’t heard that before.”  
  
Right. Junmyeon rests his elbows on the table and presses his palms over his face. “Kind of like a doctor, but for your mind. You tell them what you’re worried about. And what hurts in your head..in your heart, in your memories. And they talk it through with you and tell you how to feel better about it.”  
  
“Oh. Well, obviously you said no,” Chanyeol shrugs. Junmyeon lowers his hands to scowl across at him. “You’ve told me all of that stuff for months, then as soon as I look like a person you won’t do it anymore,” Chanyeol explains, gesturing between them with the spoon.   
  
Junmyeon whines and pushes at his arm. “You’ll get soil in my food.”  
  
Chanyeol threatens to get closer before he draws back. “How do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?”   
  
“I’d probably catch some disease and die.”  
  
“It’s so nutritious! It would do you good,” Chanyeol argues, and Junmyeon can’t help laughing. Chanyeol smiles at the sound, but then he slumps a little in his seat. “Yesterday,” he starts cautiously. Junmyeon quickly sobers too. “I didn’t mean to..”  
  
Junmyeon shakes his head. “Don’t. Chanyeol, don’t apologise. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”  
  
“I know you don’t mean to,” Chanyeol says quietly. “There’s a lot you’re frustrated about. And it all just..” he raises his hands. It boils over, overflows.   
  
“It doesn’t make it ok.”  
  
“I’m a plant.” Chanyeol shrugs. “If you need to, it’s better you do that to me than your friends. It’s better for you to say it than just keep it to yourself. Anyway,” he shifts a little, tugging at the sleeve of the sweater until it’s covering his knuckles, “I like when you share your feelings with me. It’s what helped me to grow.”  
  
Guilt sinks heavy in Junmyeon’s chest. It tastes bitter in his mouth. Of anyone this could have happened to, he’s really not done much to earn it. “You came a long way to be here and I haven’t exactly been grateful.”  
  
“Just from your garden,” Chanyeol smiles, but it’s tone that Junmyeon goes by. “You should finish eating. Your medication is too strong without food.”  
  
“I take the..”  
  
“Sunday pill. The half hour one that stops the others hurting. If you take it. You always get grumpy about not being able to eat on time even if you don’t like eating breakfast.” Even if he can’t entirely focus, Junmyeon takes the hint that Chanyeol’s going to stare him down until he picks his food back up. Chanyeol scoops up more of his own encouragingly and nods, pleased, when Junmyeon turns away from him to slurp up more noodles. “You can’t get around me, Kim Junmyeon. As long as I’m here you have to look after yourself properly.”  
  
It’d just be more uncalled for frustration, getting annoyed when Chanyeol only knows these things because Junmyeon has told him. It’s no less of a surprise each time he realises just how much he’s had to say. And Chanyeol makes a good point.   
  
(About the talking thing. And the medication thing. Not the soil.)  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
 _At least_ , everyone always says, _it wasn’t all of your sight_. Small blessings. Could be worse - could be something to actually complain about. Junmyeon responds graciously for the sakes of those who _have_ lost the entirety of their vision, not the ones who curiously cover an eye with their hand and decide it’s not so bad.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
Junmyeon’s resolve to not take his frustration out on Chanyeol lasts a record number of three days. A personal best, if you’re a terrible person. Which Junmyeon is, which is why he just wants to be left the hell alone.  
  
Junmyeon’s home is comparably large to the apartment he lived in back when he lectured in a big city, but it feels like there’s no space Chanyeol isn’t taking up. Why he’s here has been playing on Junmyeon’s mind ever since he appeared, and Chanyeol’s never exactly given a straight answer to it. Junmyeon asked in frustration, because it’s a bad day and he’d really like to just be on his own.  
  
“I’m here to help you!” Chanyeol’s bare feet thud heavy on the wood floor. Junmyeon asked, rhetorical and angry. He’s doing his best to get away from Chanyeol so he doesn’t have to hear. “I can help with anything. That’s why I’m here. I clean, don’t I? I make the place nice and safe.”   
  
Junmyeon’s already pulled the back door open. Ironic, going out in the garden to get away from a plant. He pushes it shut and turns to Chanyeol. “You did..whatever it is you did, just to _clean_.”  
  
“Not just that.” Chanyeol’s hands are balled at his chest. He’s trying not to tower over Junmyeon, not let his human voice come out as loud as it naturally does. He can’t help it. He’s not one of those miserable white camellias; passion is the language he was born into. “I could do anything. It’s just, you haven’t asked, so I haven’t yet. But I can make sure it’s safe if you want to cook, or anything else you’re worried about. And I can help you with, with like, when you can’t find things you need?”  
  
Junmyeon leans back against the wall. It’s not like he hasn’t read some entirely ridiculous folklore on the bizarre things spirits have been reported to do, but you don’t expect to have it happen to you. You don’t expect to lose your sight in your mid-20s and just get sent back to a home full of obstacles like nothing has happened. Misreading his silence as a good sign, Chanyeol continues.  
  
“I probably should have said all this when we first- the first day, I know. It was all kind of confusing, so it never seemed the right time.” He opens and closes his fists, flexing his fingers then squeezing his knuckles white. Anxious reflex; human energy. “But we could do whatever you like. I can take you out! So you don’t have to wait for your friends to be free anymore. We can go anywhere you want. I mean, I can’t drive and I don’t know how the subway works, but if you tell me I can-”  
  
“I don’t _want_ you to help,” Junmyeon cuts in, “I’m doing this in my own time, the way I need to do it.” That’s pretty fucking reasonable after what happened, he thinks. Anyone should understand that something like this is a personal journey. But Chanyeol lacks human contexts, and he doesn’t think anything about Junmyeon is all that personal if he happened to overhear it when he was petals and leaves. Chanyeol’s angling himself up to stand his ground, and Junmyeon feels his temper flaring before Chanyeol’s even said anything.  
  
“But you’re not doing _anything_. You’re just letting yourself get isolated,” Chanyeol’s voice is deep with the way he’s trying to keep the volume down. “You’re not incapable of learning how to adapt. You’re super smart and you work really hard, and you’re just.. just not letting yourself. You’re just scared.”  
  
Junmyeon really doesn’t have to listen to this. Walking away would just mean shelving this frustration for another time, though, and it’s not _fair_ that Chanyeol thinks he can just turn up and tell Junmyeon how he feels. Even if he’s not entirely wrong. “So what if I am? What does it matter if it takes me time to build up enough courage to be independent. This is a big fucking life changing deal, Chanyeol, I can’t just dust myself off and keep going like nothing has happened.”  
  
“It’s not that,” Chanyeol says, and Junmyeon throws his hands up. “You’re scared of people seeing you. I _know_ you, Junmyeon, you’ve spent months talking to me. You keep struggling to try and do things the same way as before so no one realises. Have you ever even tried using that white cane the hospital gave you?” he asks, and a flash of surprise cuts through the anger on Junmyeon’s face. “You just don’t want people to see you. All that stuff you said about, about society and whatever people think of you outside of here doesn’t mean you can’t learn how to make other things nicer and easier for yourself.”  
  
“So you had this idea of how I should be behaving and I was being _such_ a letdown that you had to come and tell me?” A soft _no_ comes from Chanyeol, almost a whimper. His form is all hunched up again, arms drawn in tight. Junmyeon is trembling. “This has _nothing_ to do with you. I didn’t ask you to do any of this.”   
  
Chanyeol unfurls again, reaching for Junmyeon. He gently touches a hand to his elbow. “You needed-“ Junmyeon pulls away. “You needed someone, and I love you, Junmyeon. As much as you love me. I wanted to return the care you’ve given me.”  
  
“I only loved you as a plant,” Junmyeon snaps. He doesn’t hear himself say it, doesn’t really register what he’s said until Chanyeol sharply withdraws. And then it hits him, like all of those worry stones he’s carried in his belly have piled up at once. Chanyeol’s right, and Chanyeol did this out of love, and Junmyeon’s done nothing but reject, reject, reject. When Chanyeol replies, “So I shouldn’t have done this?” he’s already sinking under the weight of it.  
  
“It’s hard. A lot of change, it’s really hard. I know.” Junmyeon hears the wetness in Chanyeol’s voice and bites on his lower lip. “This was my choice. I mean, it wasn’t _your_ choice that your life changed, so no, I don’t understand what it feels like entirely. But I understand being in the same place but it’s all different, and how you navigate it being different, and being different yourself. Did you even think about that?”  
  
God, does Junmyeon ever really think about anyone but his own miserable self these days? He shakes his head, focused on Chanyeol’s bare feet on the floor tiles.  
  
“I know you’re a nice person,” Chanyeol says. Junmyeon scoffs and turns away, fists clenched tight at his sides. He was, maybe, before his entire personality got taken over by this. He’d always imagined himself as the kind of person who could take on anything, doesn’t let anything set them back. The anger and fear erodes even the best parts of him. “And I know there’s a lot you’re worried and angry about, and that’s why you can be so mean. But we’re trying to help you, and you just keep getting angry and pushing us away. Every time you make a tiny bit of progress you get scared again and blame us for trying to help.”  
  
That’s not right. Junmyeon appreciates everything his friends do for him. “I don’t-“  
  
“You _do_.” Chanyeol doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but as one of the people going out of their way to see Junmyeon progress, he’s entitled to his opinion on this. “You get angry with me because when I offer to help it means you’d have to accept you can do things you’re scared to do. ‘n you get angry with your friends for being sensitive. We’re all trying to show you that things don’t have to be impossible but you’re too busy insisting they are.”  
  
Chanyeol’s tears started as drizzle and are turning into a downpour. His shoulders hitch, and Junmyeon’s looking there now, Chanyeol’s hands in his sleeves and his sleeves pressed to his face.  
  
“I miss being in the ground,” Chanyeol says. “I miss how you used to hold me.”  
  
Junmyeon stares at him, for all the good staring at anything ever does. Dread slides cold and prickling from the nape of his neck down. Somewhere along the line he apparently also lost the ability to not momentously fuck everything up.  
  
“Chanyeol,” his mouth is dry. On the table Junmyeon’s phone begins buzzing. His fists are still held tight. He doesn’t take his eyes off the shape of Chanyeol hidden behind his sleeves. It rings off, then it calls again.   
  
Chanyeol’s nearer and peers over at the screen. “It’s Baekhyun.” Which means it’s just going to ring and ring until it gets answered.  
  
With a last glance up at his face, Junmyeon steps past Chanyeol. “Hey, now isn’t-“ he gets as far as saying before there’s disturbance on the line.  
  
“ _There’s literally no reason for now to not be a good time_ ,” Jongdae’s loud nasal voice replaces Baekhyun’s. “ _You’re in your pyjamas watching that show where they make over restaurants_.”  
  
“Right,” Junmyeon replies, then, “I mean, no, not today.” His mouth and his brain feel like they’re full of dirt. In a way he’s not surprised at all - Chanyeol loves him. Of course he does, or he wouldn’t be here. Spirits don’t just do shit like this for fun, and he certainly hasn’t ever given the impression that’s what life with him would be.  
  
“ _So are we coming over or what?”_  
  
Junmyeon turns back to Chanyeol. However many times in the past five months he’s wished he could just fucking _see_ is nothing to right now, unable to make out his expression. Can’t see if he’s still in tears. “I actually have, uh,” He doesn’t like to lie, but Jongdae would ignore excuses and turn up with medication, or an alibi, or ready to fight a fire if need be. “A home visit. Today, so.”  
  
The sound goes distant. Jongdae and Baekhyun seem to be conferring. Junmyeon paces, then sits on the couch and jogs his feet against the floor. Then Jongdae says that’s fine, maybe next week. He hangs up, and Junmyeon starts crying with his phone still held to his ear.  
  
The weight in Junmyeon’s gut doesn’t ease up when he curls in, screwing his little body up as small as possible. He presses himself tight to the back of the couch and remembers wanting to slip down between the cushions. He could just fall down the back like loose change. Not noticed, not missed.  
  
“Talk to me, Kim Junmyeon.” Chanyeol’s voice sounds close and strong again. He’s beside the couch, probably on his knees to be at eye level with Junmyeon. “You can close your eyes. Pretend I’m still a plant.”  
  
And Junmyeon doesn’t have it in him anymore to flare up and refuse. Telling Chanyeol how he really feels stings in the back of his nose. The stone in his stomach comes up to stick in his throat as he says what he couldn’t even say to the big bright flower that filled his whole palm. He doesn’t want to be helped. He wants to be forgotten about, left alone to rot.  
  
“You’d be nutrients for the soil,” Chanyeol’s voice is gentle. His hand in Junmyeon’s hair is, too, not cautious of him anymore. “That’s nature. You grow, you bloom, you die. You rot, go back to the earth and others live through you. Happens to everything when it’s time.”  
  
Junmyeon presses his palms to his wet face. It hurts. It’s crushing.   
  
“You’d still serve a purpose. But it’s definitely not your time yet,” Chanyeol soothes, “And plants can grow through concrete, so don’t argue with me about not understanding how hard some obstacles can be.”  
  
“I don’t want to be a burden,” Junmyeon says when he’s been able to draw in a deep breath. “Or get treated like a child. Or be pitied, or have everyone think what a waste of space I am when I spent so long trying to figure out how to make something of myself.”  
  
Chanyeol frowns. “But it’s not your fault this happened. Junmyeon, there’s nothing you need to be ashamed of. Even if there’s bad people out there who would be unkind, you have us. And- and I know that doesn’t stop people from thinking or saying bad things. But I’m sure there’s a lot of important things ahead of you that don’t concern them.” He pauses. Junmyeon’s shoulders are narrow, and when he rubs his back one hand spans blade to blade. “You can still make something of yourself. Just, something new to before.”  
  
For a long moment Junmyeon doesn’t- can’t respond. He feels like he’s dissolving under the warm pressure to his back. No one has ever asked about these things. Everyone insists it’ll be like nothing has changed, eventually. Having any life back is what matters, right? Quantity over quality.  
  
“So that’s really why you..” Junmyeon wets his dry lips, tasting salt. It’s stupid to even ask - Chanyeol obviously had no ulterior motives - so he rephrases, “Why would you do that for me?”  
  
Chanyeol smiles. “Because I wanted to be here for you. I wished and wished and wished. I didn’t even know if it would work, but..something in the universe must have known it was important, huh.”  
  
“It knew you’d be able to put up with me long enough to say what I needed to hear?” Junmyeon manages a laugh, and Chanyeol’s hand moves back to combing through his hair. “There was so much I was angry and worried about, I didn’t even..I didn’t really know what it even was until I told you. Or..until you told me. I’ve been too scared to even try and imagine a future.”  
  
“Universe made me wise, I guess,” Chanyeol says.  
  
“It must have. I can’t believe you really did that just for me.”  
  
“Don’t flatter yourself, Kim Junmyeon.” Chanyeol’s voice is weak and wet again, but Junmyeon hears the smile in it. Feels it, when Chanyeol presses his lips to Junmyeon’s forehead for a long, long moment. He pulls back and thumbs away the wetness on Junmyeon’s face, and Junmyeon finds himself gratefully leaning into the touch. “I’m very sure I’m not the first spirit to become human for love.”  
  
That’s true. A tale of a flower coming to life only to be resigned to playing on a tablet all day wouldn’t really be one for legend. “I’d understand if you wanted to turn vengeful after how I’ve treated you.” Junmyeon’s only kind of joking.  
  
“Why would I want to lead you to your death if you’re finally going to stop being so difficult?” Chanyeol says, “I want to enjoy you being nice to me first.”  
  
“Chanyeollie,” Junmyeon tries, laughing and wiping his wet eyes with the heel of his palm, “I can’t guarantee I’ll stop being grumpy. Or stop getting sad and angry, but I’ll try my best not to be difficult anymore.”  
  
Chanyeol shakes his head. “You should feel everything you need to feel. But you can tell me. I know I won’t understand everything, but you saying it is the important part. You can feel as many bad things as you need to, but you’re not allowed to keep it to yourself anymore.”  
  
“Ok,” Junmyeon says. “I won’t.” Even if that’s not an easy promise to make, he owes it to Chanyeol to try. Who knows, maybe in time he’ll even want to do it for himself. “You may not be the first spirit to have done this, but maybe you’ll be the first ever spirit counsellor.”  
  
There’s a long pause. “Was that a joke?” Chanyeol sounds so puzzled Junmyeon can’t help laughing, eyelashes still wet against his skin. Chanyeol leans to press their foreheads together, and Junmyeon thinks maybe he wouldn’t fit down the back of the couch anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Weeding the rest of the flowerbed is faster with two pairs of hands at work. Chanyeol runs back and forth carrying water from the house down to the flowers, and Junmyeon shows him how to turn over the soil. (“Don’t eat any when I’m not looking,” Junmyeon warns. It’s cute that Chanyeol doesn’t realise he’s teasing and solemnly swears not to.)  
  
  
There’s sweat stinging in Junmyeon’s eyes and a long smear of dirt down his arm after he’s wiped it away. The hair at his nape is in damp spikes. It’s been quite some time since he’s worked this long and hard in the garden, and even if he’s getting tired it feels good. Like he’s done a decent days work, not just kept himself busy.  
  
Pulling off his gloves and climbing to his feet, Junmyeon turns to seek out the glow of red he knows will be nearby. “Chanyeollie, we should..” Found him. He’s standing at the edge of the bed, staring down into it, hands balled tight inside his sleeves. “Your old home,” Junmyeon says softly, stepping nearer. He’s spent a lot of time in that exact spot himself. He can see that Chanyeol’s mouth is drawn down.  
  
“My old home.” Chanyeol steps from the grass edge into the earth. He turns a few times, gently treading the ground with a heel until he’s found the exact spot. For a moment he seems agitated, shifting his weight and pulling at the sweater, like he can’t get it comfortable. It’s an unnatural thing for him to wear. It can’t feel good being home but the wrong shape to fit.  
  
Junmyeon toys with his apron cords, unsure what to say. It’s his fault Chanyeol no longer has roots. Before he comes up with anything, Chanyeol calls for him. His arms are open and Junmyeon steps into the soil with him, wraps an arm around his waist.   
  
Chanyeol tucks Junmyeon in under his chin. “I missed this view.”  
  
“I’m sure it’s nice.“ Rather than attempting to look, Junmyeon presses his cheek into the fabric of the sweater. It’s starting to pill with wear. Junmyeon rests against Chanyeol’s chest, listening to the way he creaks in place of a heartbeat. It feels bold and entirely familiar at once; Chanyeol’s always been willing to intimacy. Camellias are symbolic of eternal love, after all. “Chanyeollie, I’m sorry. For not appreciating what you did.” Junmyeon squeezes his solid body, that strange feeling of shifting sand under his skin as Chanyeol squeezes back. “I won’t make you regret it anymore.”  
  
“I haven’t regretted it,” Chanyeol replies easily, voice thick. “I just miss it. You can miss something but not want it back. You can feel that, right?”  
  
“Of course you can.”  
  
“Ok. Good.” Chanyeol’s arms tighten just a little more. It shouldn’t have taken this long for Junmyeon to realise that he smells of fresh earth, not his flowers.  
  
Maybe five minutes, maybe thirty, Junmyeon doesn’t know how much longer they stand there. By the time they start clearing up to head inside it’s getting dark.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
It’s new podcast day. The life in China series - the murder mystery ended a few weeks back and Junmyeon hasn’t found a replacement yet. Mostly because he’s selective, partly because a certain someone is eating into his quiet time. The China episodes are bitesize and update four times a week. He downloads them all on Fridays to listen to over the weekend.  
  
That’s the plan, anyway. The usual plan. Juice, podcast, nap on the couch. It’s a good routine - it gets the weekend over and done with faster, and Junmyeon has something to mail Zitao about once he’s done listening.  
  
So Junmyeon’s got his juice, the episodes are lined up and ready. There’s just one thing missing.  
  
“For something that doesn’t require sleep you spend a lot of time lying down.”  
  
“There are two couches,” Chanyeol protests. Him and his long twisty vine limbs are taking up the entire thing, as he often is. His feet hang over the end unless he curls up. Reminds Junmyeon of a plant too heavy and long for its grow bag.  
  
“So you won’t mind letting me have my favourite one,” Junmyeon presses, standing his ground. It’s comfier. The other couch had an unfortunate incident involving an insect and Zitao taking a running jump. “Chanyeol, come on, move. I’m holding things.” He lifts the glass. His tablet, headphones attached and looped around it, is hooked tight to his chest with the other arm. Somehow this means turning and sitting on the other couch is out of the question.  
  
Chanyeol doesn’t entirely buy it either, but he still sits up. And sidles over, curls his legs in tight, and.. ah. So that’s how it’s going to be. “Sit, sit,” he encourages, reaching out for Junmyeon. Who is actually somewhat nervous of drink spills and tablet damage, so allows Chanyeol to pry both out of his hands.  
  
“What are we doing?” Junmyeon asks warily, but Chanyeol’s already untangling the headphone cord with enthusiasm, so it’s not much of a mystery.   
  
“I want to hear about China too.”  
  
Until now Chanyeol’s mostly just left Junmyeon to his routines, other than trailing around after him at times. But until now Junmyeon wouldn’t have let Chanyeol disrupt one without biting his head off for it.  
  
“I have relatives there,” Chanyeol offers as explanation.  
  
True.   
  
“And only your friend in China knows about me, right? So when we go to visit I should at least know something in return. That’s polite.”  
  
Also true. In honesty Junmyeon doesn’t need much convincing - the guilt of how eager Chanyeol is to join in is doing a good enough job. “If you want to listen you’ll have to give that back,” he gestures to the tablet protectively caged against Chanyeol’s chest with his elbows.  
  
Bony probably isn’t the right word to use for Chanyeol, considering he could be made of twigs for all they know. The tablet is balanced between Junmyeon’s right leg and Chanyeol’s left. His elbow, shoulder and ribs dig into Junmyeon as he watches him navigate the menu by colour. Junmyeon’s knee presses into Chanyeol’s long thigh, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  
  
Junmyeon offers Chanyeol an earbud. “Like I’m ever going to go to China again,” he pouts, fiddling with the cord to untangle his side. Chanyeol seems a little bemused by what exactly happens with headphones, so with some fumbling and a few distressed sounds, Junmyeon gets it in for him.  
  
“That’s why we’d go together.” Chanyeol gingerly touches where the bud disappears into his ear. He’s seen Junmyeon do this enough times and knows in theory how it works, but in practice it’s..strange.  
  
“I’ve left the house on my own maybe two times since,” Junmyeon gestures vaguely to his face. Since then. He prods Chanyeol’s arm. “And you’ve never been further than this place.”  
  
“Taozi wants you to go,” Chanyeol protests, knowing that’s digging at a soft spot. Junmyeon’s frowning mostly at how strange it is to hear someone else refer to his baby with affection. Chanyeol’s vocabulary is made up of what Junmyeon fed him, though, so. And he isn’t wrong, but Junmyeon doesn’t want to get into that now.  
  
“Ready?” he asks. Chanyeol nods. Junmyeon hits play, and Chanyeol yelps, nearly leaping out of his seat. Junmyeon steadies the tablet between them and elbows Chanyeol back. “I don’t want any cracks in the screen. Sit still.”  
  
“But, the,” he sputters.  
  
“Just listen to her talking,” Junmyeon shushes, “You’ll get used to it.”  
  
“Ok,” Chanyeol says with wary determination, stiffly settling back. He removes Junmyeon’s elbow from his gut and keeps his grip on Junmyeon’s arm. Each time the speaker changes or music plays he squeezes a little harder.  
  
Junmyeon just shuts his eyes and listens, though soon the warmth of Chanyeol against his side makes him sleepy. Too sleepy to focus on what’s being said anymore, and eventually too sleepy to stop his head from dropping onto Chanyeol’s shoulder. Company really isn’t so bad after all.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“Oh- woah,” comes Chanyeol’s voice from behind Junmyeon. Before he reacts Chanyeol’s already leant around and pulled the kettle upright and out of his hands. “Hot,” Chanyeol scolds softly, “You can’t be so heavy handed.”  
  
“But I am.” Junmyeon frowns at his cup on the counter. Has it overflowed? He tilts his head in hope of any water around it catching the light.  
  
“And how many times have you burned yourself?”  
  
The answer is none in the past three months, because it’s so impossible to see where the waterline is Junmyeon just gave up making coffee. He’s not sure why he felt like trying again today, but his perception evidently hasn’t improved. “I time how long its pouring. It..sort of works.”  
  
Chanyeol frowns. “Surely there’s an easier way.”  
  
Junmyeon wipes the countertop over with the edge of his shirt just to make sure. “They make..things, yeah.” He knows what he’s letting himself in for by admitting this, but, “The hospital sent a letter with who to contact about it.”  
  
And as expected, Chanyeol’s whole body suddenly seems to vibrate with excitement.  
  
“No,” Junmyeon gets in first. “No, I don’t want any.”  
  
“Why.” Chanyeol is suddenly right up against Junmyeon’s back. He leans against the counter with both hands, bracketing Junmyeon in. “Tell me a _really_ good reason why.”  
  
Junmyeon attempts to puff up defensively, but with Chanyeol towering over him and only feeble excuses to offer all he can do is scowl. “I don’t..”  
  
“You’re mumbling.”  
  
“I don’t.” Ugh. Yes, he’s being stupid and stubborn and it’s not a good reason. “I don’t want my home to look like I don’t know how to live in it. It won’t look like a normal kitchen if there are things stuck to everything.”  
  
Chanyeol hums disapprovingly.   
  
“It’s embarrassing not being able to do really basic things,” Junmyeon adds in his defence, and Chanyeol gives his back a consoling pat. He knows. But he’s still not letting Junmyeon get away with being petulant any more.  
  
“So you’re telling me you can wear an apron to garden but can’t use a cup with a sticker on it?”  
  
Junmyeon shifts uncomfortably.   
  
“Maybe this would be a good first step,” Chanyeol encourages. He doesn’t have to add _to you not being a huge pain in the ass_ for Junmyeon to distinctly get the feeling that’s what he means.  
  
  
At some point over the following day the letter appears on the coffee table, still in a torn envelope with the hospital’s friendly logo in the top corner. Junmyeon is conveniently napping upstairs when Chanyeol finds it.  
  
The date on the large print letter is from four months ago. This was _supposed_ to be his first step when he was released from hospital, not five months on when he’s switched to plastic cups and cold drinks. Better late than never, though, and thanks to Junmyeon teaching Chanyeol how to send texts and mails for him, he knows exactly what to do.  
  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“I have a problem,” Chanyeol announces as he walks in from the garden.   
  
Junmyeon looks over, spoon stuck in his mouth. “I don’t like those before breakfast,” he scrapes around for the last of the yogurt in the little pot, “Problems.”  
  
“That is the problem. There’s no breakfast.” Chanyeol pouts and sets his empty bowl on the counter.   
  
Oh. Well, that is a problem. “You should have told me it was running so low.”  
  
“The bag tore and I didn’t notice. I’m sure you don’t want the neighbours to see me eating out of a puddle.” Chanyeol rests on his elbows. Even if he’s looking longingly at Junmyeon’s strawberry yogurt it’s not like he could stomach eating it, though Junmyeon sets it aside in sympathy. “Can Jongdae get more?”  
  
Junmyeon hums. “I wouldn’t bother any of them on a Sunday. And orders online don’t get processed until Monday.” And wait, that’s a good point. Chanyeol only took two days to get sick last time. Junmyeon reaches across for his phone. “We might have to do something drastic,” he says, and for a moment Chanyeol looks worried that he’s going to be sent out to the puddle with a spoon and straw.  
  
Junmyeon pulls up a map on his phone and Chanyeol peers curiously over his shoulder as he types.  
  
“I could probably get by on what’s in the garden,” he offers. This all looks suspiciously like Junmyeon’s considering going outside. On his own. That would be very drastic, even in Chanyeol’s plans to get him doing things.  
  
“I’m not making you eat out the flower bed, Chanyeol. There’s pellets in it and.. ah,” he squints, tapping and pinching the screen, “This says there’s a place-“  
  
“Twelve minutes away!” Chanyeol reads ahead, “Doesn’t Kyungsoo usually drive you somewhere a long way away?”  
  
He does. They make a day of it. Junmyeon’s never considered that it isn’t by necessity.  
  
“Are you sure about this?” It means Junmyeon leaving the house without one of his friends to do all of the..whatever it is people do. “Sorry. It was my fault for being careless.”  
  
Junmyeon shakes his head. He’s really, really not, but what other option is there? “Come with me?” he asks before his brain has time to consider the question. “If you want, that is. I mean, you should start seeing the world if you’re going to live here, right?”  
  
Chanyeol bounces on his toes. Outside sounds exciting, and getting _Junmyeon_ out there would be a real feat. “Are you really sure?”   
  
Is he? About any of this? “Really,” Junmyeon says uncertainly. How much could go wrong between a partially-sighted recluse and a spirit who’s never seen the world beyond this house. “Just try not to make it too obvious you haven’t seen most of it before, I guess. And if people stare at your hair at least they won’t notice me falling over my own feet.”  
  
“I wouldn’t let you!” With his usual excess of enthusiasm, Chanyeol slams his hands harder than necessary on the table top. But Junmyeon’s less interested in his heroics than another issue he’s just realised. Feet.  
  
  
Finding shoes for Chanyeol delays them by a good fifteen minutes. (He doesn’t need them, as such. Junmyeon struggles to explain why it’s not socially acceptable to go outside barefoot. Chanyeol doesn’t like the sound of this society thing at all.)  
  
There are one pair of Zitao’s somewhere in the depths of Junmyeon’s closet, from when he visited last year and told Junmyeon some time later that he’d stashed most of his luggage to make space for what he was taking back. Junmyeon sits on the bed and Chanyeol digs through clothes and boxes for any shoes that may be swimming around on the floor. Three of Junmyeon’s, and eventually a larger pair, new and not worn in.  
  
  
It’s with trepidation that Junmyeon opens up the map and takes his first step outside. Same old outside as always, just like when they pick him up for appointments or drive him out to somewhere for the day. Junmyeon moved in a few years before the whole incident, but it’s really been so long he’s not sure he remembers the exact routes that lead out from here.  
  
This is potentially far too overwhelming of a step. Junmyeon taps the side of his phone with a nail, wondering if he overestimated himself when he set his mind on this. But then Chanyeol, still struggling with not feeling the floor under his feet, nearly falls down the path.  
  
“It hurts,” he whines as Junmyeon takes his arm and helps him regain his balance. “I don’t like it. I’ve only had feet for five minutes, I didn’t know they could be so painful.”  
  
“I think you’re probably going to find this harder than I am,” Junmyeon laughs. It’s midday and quiet out on the street. It’s warm, and maybe you can never say the air is _good_ when you’re still on the outskirts of a city, but it’s an improvement on the four walls of his dusty home.  
  
Grumbling, Chanyeol practices heel-toe, toe-heel steps to get used to the feel of separation between his feet and the ground. “So what do I need to do?”  
  
Right. They’re on a mission. “So, look, this little flashing dot is us,” Junmyeon holds his phone out, and Chanyeol opens his palms to receive it. “And as we move, the dot moves. And the line is the direction we need to go in.”  
  
“So we just walk so the dot follows the line?” Chanyeol squints at it, turning on the spot until the pointed edge of the circle is facing the thick blue line on the map.   
  
“Basically.” Junmyeon barely resists the temptation to cling to Chanyeol as he takes a step forward. Their surroundings are familiar, but kind of like he’s looking at it all through a frosted pane of glass. “But it won’t be quite as simple as the map. It can’t show where there’s obstacles. And, ah-” He does reach for Chanyeol now, pulling at his elbow and slowing him down. “I need to teach you basic road safety.”  
  
  
The line on the map leads them to a place entirely unlike where Junmyeon has visited with Kyungsoo. It’s two stores knocked through to make one large, crowded space, and judging by the weathering of the sign it’s the oldest establishment on the street. Everything live or messy seems to be outside, spilling out over the boundaries of the store front. It’s probably why the place is located away from a main road.  
  
“This is nicer,” Chanyeol says as they walk between the tables of flowers, and Junmyeon has to agree. It’s quiet round here, shaded by trees. The rows of potted flowers smell sweet and good. Chanyeol isn’t keen on cars. Or the sheer volume of brick and concrete everywhere. “There’s so little nature just, around,” he says mournfully, “No wonder there are so many bad people.”  
  
It feels homely compared to the neat, formal layout of the place Kyungsoo drives them to. There are a lot of plants, numerous types of bird feeders, a few garden ornaments (Junmyeon doesn’t trip, but after bumping his toes against one he remembers to slow down), and no obvious sacks of soil.   
  
With his fingertips on the edge of a table, Junmyeon carefully picks his way around to explore further. After a long moment staring at an unidentifiable object (an empty fish tank, he realises eventually), Junmyeon looks back to where he left Chanyeol. It’s a strange feeling being out with someone that isn’t Kyungsoo, Baekhyun or Jongdae. Well. It’s a strange feeling being out at all, to be fair.   
  
In his whole life Junmyeon’s probably only been approached in the street a handful of times, yet it’s hard to convince himself it’s irrational to be so afraid someone will, for some reason, need him for the sight he doesn’t have. Someone will catch him out, realise he’s not like them.  
  
For a split second he’s searching for Chanyeol. Panic floods him, then he finds the flash of red. Chanyeol’s crouched down. They’ll have to get him some clothes of his own; even Junmyeon can see the sweater stretched uncomfortably across his broad shoulders. He’s eye level with a pot of geraniums. Whether he’s making conversation with it or just looking, Junmyeon catches the side of his foot on an obstacle he’d entirely forgotten to watch out for and ungracefully stumbles into their moment and onto Chanyeol.  
  
It startles Chanyeol but he reacts quickly, even if from his knees the best he can do is grip Junmyeon’s forearm and push back against him. It keeps him on his feet.   
  
“Sorry, sorry. Did I hurt you? I didn’t kick you did I?” Junmyeon frets. He rubs the back of Chanyeol’s hand where it’s wrapped entirely around his wrist, trying to soothe the shock out of him. “I didn’t see..” Of course he didn’t see. He flushes hot and pink, but Chanyeol just shakes his head.  
  
“This was kind of..” he grunts as he pulls himself up to his feet, “This was a challenging first outing, huh? There’s things everywhere.”  
  
“I’m a chronic try-hard.” Junmyeon pushes his hair out of his eyes. His stomach is churning with the remnants of panic and then the jolt from tripping. “Always have been, but I didn’t intend to be for this.”  
  
Chanyeol pats his shoulder. “See? You haven’t changed all that much.” Junmyeon huffs, but Chanyeol’s crouched down again before he can retaliate. “I found- it’s here out of the way.”  
  
Chanyeol hauls out a sack similar in colour and design to the kind Junmyeon usually has. Off-brand, maybe. There’s a bright orange sticker in the centre, price hand written.  
  
“Good thing you brought me!” Chanyeol’s busy pushing and pulling at the contents of the sack to even the weight out and doesn’t notice how Junmyeon’s started fidgeting. “No way you could have carried this back.”  
  
“No,” Junmyeon mutters, distracted. He has other issues to deal with before thinking about how to get it home.  
  
  
“I’m sorry,” Junmyeon says automatically. He’s always slow - getting his wallet, counting money? How did he think he’d manage that? Chanyeol’s busy outside, but it’s not like he could ask him to help anyway. He’d probably sooner eat a note that know it’s value.  
  
“You can..” the girl hesitantly holds out her hands, small and pressed together, palms up. Her cheeks have large circles of orange makeup. She’s probably the kind of girl Junmyeon would have smiled at to get a smile in return, but right now he’s pretty sure his face is as heavy with blush as hers. “Have you paid like this before?”  
  
Junmyeon shakes his head. Flustered, he offers his whole wallet. She apologises and quickly taps his card against the panel, and then Junmyeon feels warm with embarrassment. Of course he’s paid like that before.  
  
Outside Chanyeol is patiently waiting, the sack of his meals for the next month slung over his shoulder. In a weird way Junmyeon’s not so worried about people seeing him, if it’s seeing that he has someone for company. (Ok it’s kind of in a gay way. It’s not as easy to convince himself everyone who sees him will identify him as a useless waste of space with a big handsome guy eagerly tagging along at his side.)  
  
“Did you do the thing?” Chanyeol beams so brightly Junmyeon can make out the glint of his teeth, “I dunno exactly what you had to do, but! You did it?”  
  
“I did it.” Junmyeon flexes his fingers. Wow. He really did just. Do it. “I mean.. I was messing up, but she helped. And made me realise there’s a much easier way to do it in future.”  
  
Chanyeol hefts the sack of soil higher onto his shoulder with a huff. “Yeah? Where to next?”  
  
“Home, I think.” Junmyeon gently tugs Chanyeol’s sleeve to get him facing the right direction. Outside is starting to feel too big for one Junmyeon and his little flower. “No more adventures for today.”  
  
  
After dumping his soil outside the kitchen door and scooping a few handfuls into his mouth, Chanyeol collapses straight onto the couch. The world is very, very big. And noisy, and dirty. “I want to say that was fun, but I can’t decide if that’s the right word.”  
  
“An experience,” Junmyeon offers as he follows through from the kitchen. He’s got a glass of water that Chanyeol gratefully takes from him and gulps down. Soil sticks in his mouth when he eats it dry. “I’m proud of you, Chanyeollie,” Junmyeon says, “You did really well for your first time out there.”  
  
“You too. I mean- not for, obviously, it wasn’t your first time out. Yeah.” Chanyeol shakes his head, smiling. “You did a lot of things.”  
  
In honesty Junmyeon hasn’t made a start on processing that yet. He’ll have a more interesting update mail for Zitao tonight than usual, that’s for sure.  
  
Chanyeol leans forward, and Junmyeon hears the empty glass thunk down on the table. Then abruptly everything shifts. Junmyeon yelps at the unexpected tug to his waist. He’s pulled off his feet, and by the time the world has stopped spinning he realises he’s sprawled across Chanyeol’s lap.  
  
“That was exhausting,” Chanyeol groans as though that somehow justifies why he needs Junmyeon in his lap, in his arms. He sighs, and Junmyeon hums in agreement with the overall sentiment of deflating. He shifts and presses his face into Chanyeol’s shoulder.   
  
“I did, didn’t I. Do things.”  
  
“So many things,” Chanyeol agrees. He doesn’t know the finer details of what those things are, but he doesn’t need to to be proud. He cradles the back of Junmyeon’s head, holding him tighter. “For someone who spent so long not doing any of them, you did a lot at once.”  
  
Yeah. Junmyeon sighs shallowly, then fills his lungs with a deeper breath just to release it and feel the lack of tension. It’s a relief. He’d think he feels almost normal, if he wasn’t in a highly not-normal situation. Affection comes easy to Chanyeol now Junmyeon is more open to it, and for a long moment he just rests against him, light with relaxation as Chanyeol’s fingers comb through his hair.  
  
“Chanyeollie,” Junmyeon barely attempts to lift away, but Chanyeol preemptively tightens his hold. That’s- ok. They can talk like this. “I don’t know how to make it up to you. That I was so awful to you before. I’ve..” Actually, maybe it’s easier talking about it this way. Junmyeon can close his eyes. The fabric of Chanyeol’s sweater feels rough and worn against his cheek. “The last few days, I’ve really.. things haven’t felt so bad. Because you’ve been here keeping me company and helping me out with things. It’s what you’ve been trying to do from the start, and I know you always had good intentions and I was just..”  
  
“Humans are a lot more complicated than I imagined,” Chanyeol says, “The world is. I think maybe we just didn’t understand where each other was coming from very well in the beginning.”  
  
It’s never really been in Junmyeon’s nature to be forgiving. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to imagine why Chanyeol is willing to just move forward. However much Junmyeon thinks about all of this it’s hard to imagine why of all people he was the one this happened to.  
  
“Anyway,” Chanyeol’s hand drops from his hair, then there’s a long moment of silence and no contact. There’s some finality to the way he pats Junmyeon’s back. “You’re making it up to me by doing the things.”  
  
“Mm.” It’s tempting to stay. But the whole day can’t be spent on just this outing and the consequences of it. Junmyeon has puttering to do, and now Chanyeol isn’t preventing him from moving there’s no excuse not to get started. Though actually, there is one more task Junmyeon’s been thinking over.  
  
Careful of where he’s resting his weight and with some helping shoves, Junmyeon climbs back to his feet. He claps a hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder, smiling down at the puzzled frown shot up to him.  
  
“I know someone who needs some new clothes if they’re going to start going outside.”  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
A sound that isn’t Junmyeon’s alarm wakes him. It takes a moment for his brain to engage enough to realise it’s the ring tone, and another to figure out that he’s not making much progress on moving because he’s tangled in Chanyeol’s arms.   
  
“Phone,” he groans, pushing at whatever his hand comes into contact with to try and free himself. Has Chanyeol grown four more limbs in the night or something? “Phone, Chanyeol, the-“  
  
He breaks free and falls onto his side. Chanyeol rolls along after him, slotting himself up against Junmyeon’s back. Chanyeol’s arm curls around his waist just as he answers the call, and he stumbles a little in greeting Baekhyun.  
  
“Yes, yeah, everything is fine,” Junmyeon clears his throat. He can’t exactly say he’s being spooned by a yokai. “It’s just- early, you know how I am in the morning.”  
  
Chanyeol doesn’t sleep, so it’s not like they end up like this by accident. It’d be a groundless accusation to make, though - Junmyeon’s clingy and Chanyeol seems fairly moral, so it’s probably not a one-sided thing. Chanyeol’s strong and solid and Junmyeon’s a pretty hopeless gay as it is, let alone one that’s been touch starved for going on a goddamn year. So he doesn’t elbow him away. Maybe he even encourages Chanyeol to tuck him in under his chin. Maybe.  
  
“What did Baekhyun want this early?” Chanyeol asks once they’ve finished talking. He doesn’t make any move to let go, so neither does Junmyeon.  
  
“Date,” Junmyeon yawns, dropping his phone beside the pillow. “His husband is away and he’s apparently incapable of walking the dogs without company.”  
  
Chanyeol chins at his hair. “You’re going?”  
  
It’s not the usual kind of thing they’d invite him to do, what with the whole being outside thing and the trip hazards. After the retelling of his soil acquiring adventures maybe they feel they can be less cautious. That’s..really nice. And he’d love to spend time with the dogs. “Mm, he said he’d call back soon to agree times and things.” It feels too good here tucked against Chanyeol’s chest, and for a moment Junmyeon thinks he’d rather stay just like this.  
  
His thoughts are derailed by a whine close to his ear. “No~” Chanyeol buries in against Junmyeon’s shoulder, squeezing him tight. That’s. Ok.  
  
Belatedly Chanyeol seems to catch himself, and Junmyeon doesn’t get another word in between him rambling about needing to open the blinds downstairs and get breakfast. Chanyeol’s clumsy footsteps sound all the way down the stairs. Well. Junmyeon sits up, pushes the covers off and shivers. It’s a colder morning than he’d realised.  
  
  
“You’re so busy recently.”   
  
Chanyeol’s pretty busy himself. Since he taught himself how to cook rice he’s more or less added it into their daily routine. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and he holds his hand over the rim of the bowl as he pours out cloudy water.  
  
Junmyeon’s weighing up whether that was critical or congratulatory when Chanyeol turns to him, smile so broad Junmyeon can make out the white of his teeth.  
  
“That’s so great! You seem to always be meeting your friends now and thinking up things you want to do. I knew once you got started you’d get enthusiastic about it.”   
  
Ah, good.  
  
“Anyway, there’ll be rice for when you get back,” Chanyeol states the obvious, “But if you want to stay with Baekhyun for longer that’s ok, it’ll keep. I’ll learn how to make more things eventually,” he says sheepishly, picking wet grains from the palm of his hand, and Junmyeon shakes his head.  
  
“If you have rice you don’t need anything else to be happy.” It’s good to have any kind of hot homemade food that isn’t instant from a packet. He’s already getting used to rice every day, appreciative that Chanyeol is so keen on learning to perfect it.  
  
When the doorbell rings Chanyeol is still in the kitchen, though he startles and steps away from anything that could potentially make a sound. If Baekhyun heard strange noises coming from inside the house there’s no way he’d leave without investigating.  
  
Junmyeon steps in from the hallway, smoothing down the front of his shirt. “Am I presentable?” The dress shirt clearly hasn’t been ironed, and the sleeves hang down to his knuckles. Chanyeol cuffs them for him while Junmyeon reminds him about his water, says he shouldn’t spend all day with the tablet an inch from his face even if he is keen to learn.  
  
“Take care,” Chanyeol says like always, tugging the shoulder seams just-so. He looks a little..off. Which, you know, for Junmyeon to see must mean he is. But he smiles his usual big smile, so Junmyeon returns it.  
  
“I will. Thank you in advance for the food, I’ll look forward to it.”  
  
Something definitely feels different, but not unnervingly so. Just..  
  
This time they both startle when the bell rings. “Go, go,” Chanyeol shoos Junmyeon back into the hallway. “Take care.”  
  
Junmyeon laughs. “I’ll take extra care, don’t worry.” He raises his hand in a small wave, and Chanyeol leans in and kisses his forehead. Junmyeon’s getting used to that, too.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“Little flower,” Junmyeon says one night. He doesn’t say it often. “I’ve been thinking.”  
  
Chanyeol looks up from the tablet, ears pink-tipped, and blinks owlishly. On evenings Junmyeon can stay awake long enough this is generally what they do - Junmyeon curls on his favourite side of the couch and listens to podcasts or audiobooks, Chanyeol sits opposite and studies (or plays games. It’s still studying - improves his coordination, or something.)  
  
 _Should I be worried_ , Chanyeol means to say, but Junmyeon’s never looked at him like this. Not since he’s been in this human shell. His mouth just hangs.  
  
“You’re too big to hold how I used to, but I still can.” Junmyeon pats his knee, like he’s encouraging a puppy to clamber up. He offers Chanyeol a reassuring smile. Doesn’t need clear vision to see he’s doing that sticky-out thing with his limbs, unsure what to do with himself. “Hold you, that is,” he confirms. “I can still tell you how beautiful you are. If you want. I wasn’t sure if you’d feel differently now you’ve been human for a while.”  
  
“I’m not a human,” Chanyeol mumbles, hot face lowered. He seems to do that a lot - suddenly heating up like the sides of the rice cooker -  when Junmyeon’s nice to him. Something else to research. “Still a flower inside. I hope you’ll still think of me that way.”  
  
Junmyeon nods in understanding. “I’d like to hold you, if you’d still like to be held.” All he can do is hope he’s been reading this right.  
  
It’s one step from couch to couch. Chanyeol unfurls slowly, one hesitant foot to the floor and then the other. “I don’t know what- I didn’t have these in the way before,” he limply holds his hands up. His arms, his long, long legs.  
  
It’s not the most graceful thing, fitting all of Chanyeol into Junmyeon’s small lap. Junmyeon laughs. It’s dim and Chanyeol’s close and moving too much to focus on, so by feel he helps guide Chanyeol’s long limbs around himself. He’s heavy, but Junmyeon can bear his weight while he figures out how to bend his knees into the cushions to support himself.  
  
“This isn’t much like before,” Chanyeol huffs. Junmyeon’s hips are narrow and squeezed tight between his thighs. He rested his arms loosely around Junmyeon’s shoulders because that felt like the only obvious place they could go without getting in the way. Awkwardness is a distinctly human emotion, but it’s probably what he’s experiencing right now.   
  
And in fairness, yeah, Junmyeon hadn’t entirely prepared to be straddled like this. But Chanyeol’s good at curling in small, and once Junmyeon’s hands are on his back he melts right down, and it feels just a little more familiar to be holding him. “Seems like it’s been so long since I last told you how pretty you are. And how happy you make me.”  
  
“It’s been a really long time,” Chanyeol’s voice is dropped deep, mumbling, “Because I stopped making you happy and started annoying you instead.”  
  
Well, there is that.   
  
“But now,” Junmyeon smooths his palms over the broad plane of Chanyeol’s back. This is a little..strange, a little closer than they’ve been. But it doesn’t feel bad. Anything but, so Junmyeon doesn’t stop himself from relaxing into the warmth. Resting his forehead against Chanyeol’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “You’ve always had my happiness in mind, even when I didn’t know. And then even when I was being ignorant to it..”  
  
When Junmyeon sighs Chanyeol feels the heat against his chest. His face is burning, but with Junmyeon under him and so much smaller there’s nowhere to hide. This didn’t go so well the first time, so he focuses over Junmyeon’s head, looking out to the kitchen. “I love you. Junmyeon, I’ve loved you so, so.. I couldn’t wait to be able to tell you. I think maybe it was selfish too, the.. I did wish to be human so I could care for you. That was why I did it, honest. But I wanted to be able to talk to you, too. I wanted to tell you I loved you in a way that you’d hear. And, and..”  
  
Chanyeol pauses, and Junmyeon looks up at him. Red hair and pink ears, pink in his cheeks and down his neck.  
  
“And I wanted to do it before my flowers fell this year. You know, how they all just drop at once like that, I was so worried how you’d feel once my season was over, and..” Chanyeol bites into his lip.  
  
“And?” Junmyeon prompts gently.  
  
“I mean, the, there’s..” Junmyeon’s hands are surprisingly strong for how small he is. Chanyeol’s missed being in them so much it’s making his head swim. “There’s..you know, there’s other flowers as bright as me. Like, other colours, and bigger and you’d have seen them just as well. B-but! They wouldn’t have understood. They wouldn’t have listened to you, and I, I was worried about not being able to see that you were _ok_ , it wasn’t just..” Jealousy is a very bad human emotion, and Chanyeol’s ashamed to have found that that feeling even has a name.  
  
“It’s ok,” Junmyeon laughs, “Chanyeollie, it’s ok. That’s sweet. It’s understandable you were concerned about being replaced.”  
  
Chanyeol makes a little sound of complaint, at lack of words for exactly what he’s disagreeing with.  
  
“You’re my beautiful little flower,” Junmyeon shushes. It takes one misaimed swipe for him to run his fingers through Chanyeol’s soft hair, and it’s not the same as before. It maybe lacks the intimacy of thumbing the silk folds of petals, but as human interactions go, this is about as intimate as Junmyeon’s been with anyone in recent memory. “And even if the guys had brought me new flowers every week until you’d bloomed again, it would only have been because I was waiting for you. I wouldn’t have had anything to say to them.”  
  
Chanyeol clears his throat. “I’d pretend to believe that if I thought you were saying it for your own benefit.”  
  
Junmyeon smiles, then it builds to a laugh. “I’ll admit I’m chatty. But you have always been special, Chanyeol. Nothing would have replaced you.”  
  
Chanyeol makes a small, doubtful sound. His fingers are linked behind Junmyeon, twisting together uncertainly.  
  
“What I said before,” Junmyeon rubs between his shoulder blades, “It was true, but I didn’t mean it as harshly as it came out. I just meant..loving a human is different to loving a flower, you know? Even if you’re the same spirit. It was a big change. Humans come with a lot more context.”  
  
“Yeah.” Chanyeol lowers his head, bashful. “I kind of underestimated exactly how many humans there are..and that some of them aren’t nice. Not that it’s fair of you to think I’m like a human! But, I think I understand better now, why it’s more complicated.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Junmyeon says, “That you understand that.” And Chanyeol curls in tighter around him, squeezing, warm cheek pressed to Junmyeon’s hair. Junmyeon understands his little flower better, too, and he’s glad for that, too.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
Junmyeon would hesitate to say he’s _excited_ about visiting a convenience store, but.. well, yeah, he is.   
  
“My mother started letting me go alone when I was 8,” Junmyeon tells Chanyeol as they walk. He wasn’t allowed soda and was a boringly obedient kid, buying lunch instead of snacks like he was told, but he’d just enjoy looking up at the shelves. He felt so achieved when he handed over the money and walked back home carrying a bag all of his own.  
  
“How old were you when we met?”  
  
“A lot older than that,” Junmyeon laughs. They’re walking intentionally close and his shoulder bumps Chanyeol every few steps. “I wonder how old you are? You’d already grown big when I moved in.”   
  
“Dunno,” Chanyeol replies vaguely, focused on the road ahead of them. Chanyeol’s still undergoing training of sorts at how to safely navigate the world (for himself and Junmyeon), but roads and cars he picked up on pretty fast. Horrible loud stinky things. “It says we can walk,” he tells Junmyeon as they approach the curb, looping their forearms to guide him across.  
  
“Do you remember who lived there before me?” Junmyeon asks. His fingers are curled tight in Chanyeol’s sleeve. “Maybe they planted you.”  
  
“Dunno,” Chanyeol shrugs. “Will there be water where we’re going?”  
  
Junmyeon drops his hold on Chanyeol’s arm gradually, brushing his fingers over the back of his hand. “Thirsty again already?” he frowns. They’ve adapted the routine so Chanyeol gets watered at the same time Junmyeon takes his medication, plus an extra glass mid-afternoon. “Are you feeling ok?”  
  
“Yes. Yeah, fine. Maybe I just..absorb it faster if we’re outside, or something,” Chanyeol offers feebly. He’d just very much like to change subject. Thankfully Junmyeon isn’t difficult to distract when they’re out and there’s so much else to process.  
  
“There’ll be lots of water.” Junmyeon presses into Chanyeol’s side to give the blurry figures ahead a wide berth when they pass each other. It was strange, moving to a quieter area when he’d always lived in the heart of a city, but even imagining trying to navigate such crowded streets gives him the shudders. He smiles up at Chanyeol. “Maybe it’ll be extra good for you, the kind they sell has minerals and things.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Junmyeon can’t tell if Chanyeol is smiling back.  
  
  
Even if Junmyeon hasn’t visited a store in months (all his groceries are ordered online or appear via Jongdae), nothing ever really changes. There’s a banner above the door for a promotion, and the pink and white writing is sticking up from the ends of aisles on big signs. The bright shelves and music drifting down from the ceiling is reassuring, in a way - even the hospital is a recognisable space, but it’s not necessarily a comfort just to be able to find your way around.  
  
Luckily Junmyeon can navigate this familiar space easily. Chanyeol’s intrigued and distracted by pretty much everything, and somewhere around the freezers of ice cream Junmyeon loses him entirely. But that’s ok - it’s not exactly a large enough space for them to get separated for long.  
  
It’s a kind of strange experience being somewhere he knows so well after all this time. It’s almost disappointing that everything is blurred and foggy, seeing old things anew and being reminded that this is how they are now. He squints hard. The limited soda flavour is mango. He hated it when it ran a few years back, but he’s here and seeing it for himself and that almost feels like good enough cause to buy it anyway.  
  
The mystery of where Chanyeol’s disappeared to comes to an abrupt end when warm hands suddenly clasp down on Junmyeon’s shoulders. He startles, and behind him Chanyeol says, “Excuse us.” A gentle tug to the side and a woman steps past, ducking her head in apology.  
  
Junmyeon flushes hot across the back of his neck. “I didn’t know I was in the way.”  
  
“No worries,” Chanyeol says. He drums his fingers against Junmyeon’s shoulders, and Junmyeon looks up at him and thinks how stunningly bright his hair is under these lights. “Everyone must get in the way sometimes.”  
  
That’s true. And though Junmyeon is more conscious of how much space he’s taking up while he slowly sifts through items for the familiar packaging he’s looking for, it’s no less uncomfortable the second time.  
  
Junmyeon steps back from the chilled meals straight onto someone’s foot. He startles, face filling with heat. From all he can see when he gets his footing and turns it was a teenage boy. A tall dark blob (hood pulled up, maybe?) who mumbles in response to Junmyeon’s flustered apology and darts away down an aisle.  
  
By the time Junmyeon’s acquired all three items he wanted, plus a small bottle of water for Chanyeol, he’s tired. Condensation forms on the water, sticking the bag to it. Wrapping it separately so the other items won’t get wet at least gives the old man behind the counter something to politely busy himself with. Between the two of them, Junmyeon squinting at the colour of the coins in his palm and Chanyeol dutifully picking out the ones he says, they eventually have enough change for the money tray.   
  
Chanyeol may not particularly understand the concept of queuing, but hooking an arm around Junmyeon and getting him away from the small line of people behind them asap seems a good idea. He’s had enough experience of seeing a human that isn’t in a good mood.  
  
“I feel too tired to walk home,” Junmyeon mumbles as he’s led away.  
  
His energy drains at an alarming rate anyway, but _feeling_ has a tendency to exhaust him too. Aside from the few little bumps, he’s basically set a personal best for how long he’s been excited today. No wonder he needs to lie down. He still wants to carry the bag home, gripping the handles tight when Chanyeol offers to take it.  
  
  
“I realised something.”  
  
Chanyeol looks down at Junmyeon. His hair naturally parts in a little swirl on the top of his head, like the centre of a rose. “Yeah?”  
  
It’s been a slow walk back. It’s not far and the streets are still quiet. Junmyeon’s been swinging the bag in his hand and Chanyeol’s been slouching along beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets (angles his elbow so Junmyeon can easily hook onto his arm if he needs). Maybe, at a glance, with practice they look like two average people.  
  
“When I get..emotional, or exert myself, or anything, really, I notice changes in my sight. It’s normal that it varies, but I found it noticeable how often I’d get upset and then the next day find it harder to see.” Junmyeon twists the handles around his fingers until they’re tight, pinching the skin pink, and then he lets it unwind again. “Recently I don’t notice it as often. There’s been a few days where it’s too obvious to miss, but.”  
  
“But you’re too busy to focus on it so much?”  
  
Junmyeon nods. Then sticks his elbow in Chanyeol’s side, making him yelp. “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’, I’ll put you back out in the garden.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to!” Chanyeol clutches his side dramatically, staggering his next few steps. “Maybe I was just going to say I’m proud of you and happy you’re not so worried about it.”  
  
If Junmyeon didn’t pout he’d smile. “Because I’ve started being active and finding other things to occupy myself with, like you told me to.” He swats at Chanyeol to get him to walk in time again, tugging gently at his sleeve until they’re walking level. He frowns. “Would have been pretty much perfect today if I hadn’t kept getting in the way. My peripheral vision isn’t good even in bright lighting, I just didn’t notice them.”  
  
“That’s what the.. I know you don’t like it, but,” Chanyeol looks away, over the top of Junmyeon’s head at the dappled sunlight from the trees they’re passing. “I don’t know exactly what it _does_ , but I know the hospital wanted you to have it, and Baekhyun is always nagging.”  
  
The white cane. It’s slim and in three sections that fold together. And in the depths of Junmyeon’s closet, to prevent Baekhyun from finding it when he’s in a meddling mood.  
  
Junmyeon’s pout turns into a scowl. “I don’t..need it, exactly. People with worse sight loss than mine have special ones that help them feel where they’re going. But the one they gave me isn’t like that.” It’s called a signal. Junmyeon hadn’t even known there was a difference until he’d been given his. “It’s like. Carrying a sign that says _I’m disabled_ , I guess. That’s all it does.”  
  
Chanyeol purses his lips. He’s learned to hold his tongue, let the first thought that comes to mind settle and reorganise into something more Junmyeon-friendly. “Junmyeon, we’ve been getting along better. I don’t want you to get angry with me.”  
  
Junmyeon shrugs. The bag is starting to cut off the circulation in the two fingers its hanging from, so he swings it across to his other hand. “I wouldn’t cause a scene in public, don’t worry.”  
  
“Ok, good. You are. Disabled. And it is! That’s why it’s useful.” Chanyeol’s hands are out of his pockets, waving around. A few weeks ago Junmyeon would have cared that it’s probably attracting attention to them, but he’s too occupied with thinking how to argue that. “It’s so people will know not to walk into you. And if you’re not with someone and have a problem, people would know what to do. And, probably lots of other useful stuff. How else are they gonna know?”   
  
Junmyeon doesn’t have an answer. He swings the bag at Chanyeol’s knee and misses, but Chanyeol still leaps away like he’s been struck.  
  
“That’s not an answer,” Chanyeol says, and it’s probably for the best Junmyeon’s too focused on his footing as they approach a curb to see his smug smile. Chanyeol stuffs his hands back into his pockets and resumes his normal slouch, arm bumping Junmyeon’s shoulder as they continue home.  
  
  
“He’s right, isn’t he,” Junmyeon sighs. On the other end of the line Zitao makes a surprised, displeased sound at the noise.  
  
“ _He is right. Junmahao, we’ve all been telling you.._ ”  
  
“I know, I know,” Junmyeon cuts in, embarrassed. “Things have just.. things are a bit easier now. I’ve been rethinking things, recently.”  
  
“ _You know, even if he’s done some creepy spirit thing to you I don’t think it’s a bad thing_.”  
  
Junmyeon huffs, rolling onto his front and hugging the nearest pillow to his chest. It’s been a couple of months, and Chanyeol hasn’t demonstrated that he’s capable of anything metaphysical other than existing. So no, he probably can’t blame some kind of spooky mind control for him finally seeing sense.  
  
“ _Don’t sound so grumpy! It’s a good thing. You’ve sounded better recently, Junmahao_.” Zitao’s voice is thick with fondness. “ _Plants all have growing instructions, right? It’s just like..like, you have people instructions so everyone knows what to do to make sure things are ok._ ”  
  
“Hmm,” Junmyeon replies. “Anyway, you should get going,” he says, and across a few hundred miles he can sense that Zitao stuck out his tongue.  
  
“ _I should. We all love you so much, ok? I love you the most! And I always will. But Chan-yokai loves you a lot too. It’s good for you to be loved. It’s making you sound glowy_.”  
  
“I do _not_ sound glowy,” Junmyeon gasps, affronted, and Zitao giggles. After hanging up Junmyeon drops his phone onto the bed and presses his face into the pillow. Does he?   
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
The seedlings have all grown. Junmyeon stands in front of a bed of pinks and whites, puzzled, not noticing water dripping from the can as he leans to count the distance between plants. He’s really been neglecting his garden. And his podcasts, and his daytime tv schedule. The whole garden needs attention, but Baekhyun is still husband-less and lonely and wants to see a movie and invited him, no question. Chanyeol of course encouraged him to go, offered to tend the flowerbeds and have rice waiting for him.  
  
Junmyeon makes coffee safely, takes his meds, and thoroughly musses Chanyeol’s hair when he passes him sitting at the kitchen table.  
  
Chanyeol nearly coughs out a mouthful of breakfast. “That-” he thumps his chest, wheezing at the fine powdery soil that tickled the whole way down his throat, “-is no way to handle a flower.”  
  
“Sorry.” Junmyeon unhelpfully pats Chanyeol’s back with his fingertips. “Is this better?”  
  
“Wh-” Junmyeon’s bony chest flattens to Chanyeol’s back. His arms squeeze tight around his shoulders, up on tiptoe to reach over the back of the chair and the exact right height to rest his chin on top Chanyeol’s fluffy red head. Chanyeol drops his spoon and startles for a second time at how loudly it clatters on the table. “Wh,” he repeats eloquently. Is Junmyeon- swaying them?  
  
“Just happy,” Junmyeon hums. He has a tendency to do silly things when he’s happy, but, well. Not surprising if Chanyeol doesn’t know that.  
  
He hasn’t told anyone, because they’d misinterpret what he means, but recently Junmyeon’s felt a lot more how he did before. Not back to his old self, obviously, but like the sun reaches him again. He isn’t carrying around stones in his belly anymore. Yesterday he spontaneously sung, and he was sour with lack of practice but remembered every word.  
  
  
“Chanyeollie,” Junmyeon calls from the hallway, “Outfit check, please.”  
  
Water runs, then Chanyeol ducks out of the kitchen, wet handprints on the thighs of his new jeans. They suit him. He still refuses to wear socks. “You- ah,” he stops in his tracks, and Junmyeon waves the white cane at him threateningly.  
  
“Not a word. And I know I’m being a coward using it in a cinema of all places,” Junmyeon’s lips turn pouting. Chanyeol has to wonder if he knows he’s lost the ability to genuinely sulk recently. There’s always a little smile under the grumpy tone. For some reason it makes Chanyeol want to hold his face.  
  
“I have no idea what a cinema is.” Chanyeol pats Junmyeon’s shoulders to let him know he’s all good to go. “I’m just- not a word, yeah. But. Yeah. Ok. Take c-“  
  
There’s a sharp knock on the door, in some kind of pattern that makes Junmyeon laugh. “That’s me.”  
  
“But I didn’t-” Chanyeol protests as he’s steered back into the kitchen.   
  
“Don’t forget your second water. And I will take care, I promise,” Junmyeon holds up the cane again - after all, Chanyeol’s the one that insisted it would be helpful to use -  
and in compensation he blows Chanyeol a kiss from the doorway.  
  
Chanyeol catches it. Unsure of flying kiss courtesy (does he eat it? Press it to his forehead?), he stuffs it in his pocket for later. There’s already two screwed up paper receipts from their most recent outings in there, so he scoots across the kitchen to put them in the trash. He’s already starting to amass waste because these clothes he apparently _has_ to wear have storage for it. Human’s are very strange indeed.  
  
  
  
“I’m still walking you right up to the door,” Baekhyun says, “Even if you’re not inviting me in. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”  
  
“You have no reason to be so gentlemanly to other men anymore.” Junmyeon squeezes Baekhyun where their arms are linked, and Baekhyun makes a sound between a laugh and a wheeze.  
  
“You think I should lose my manners because I’m off the market? I’m not polite just to flirt.”  
  
“Me neither,” Junmyeon sighs. His right arm is aching from holding the white cane. Baekhyun was so pleased to see him using it he hasn’t had the heart to say he’s ready to fold it up and stop drawing attention to himself. “I never grew out of the fear of not being polite enough.”  
  
Baekhyun leans a shoulder against the wall while Junmyeon fishes out his keys. He purposely turns to look at the row of trees across the street. “Your parents scared you formal, my father was a pig and I couldn’t stand to be like him.”  
  
Junmyeon laughs. The key scrapes across the lock, so he takes another more determined stab at it. “The flirting does come in useful, though, so at least there’s that.”  
  
It’s easy to hear when Baekhyun is smiling. “I want another date with you-” he engulfs Junmyeon in a hug that squeezes and sways, “-very soon, ok?   
  
It’s actually not awkward fitting the cane between them after all. For a first attempt there was nothing notably terrible about it, though Junmyeon can’t say he isn’t relieved to finally fold it back up. It’s probably ok to leave it on the hall table beside where he keeps his shoes - he won’t lose or forget it there.  
  
The house is warm and Junmyeon’s cheeks flush within moments of being inside. “Chanyeollie, I made it back in one piece,” he calls, squirming out of his layers.  
  
“There’s rice,” Chanyeol calls back, and the heat in Junmyeon’s face spreads right down into his chest.  
  
  
  
“Thank you. For being persistent,” Junmyeon says. They’re in bed facing each other, Junmyeon’s knees curled in and pressed to Chanyeol’s thighs. It wasn’t the same - of course it wasn’t, seeing a blurry movie and carrying a cane and holding Baekhyun’s arm to keep his footing, because Baekhyun worries in different ways to the others - but it was good. The rice was good. Going out with a friend and coming home to company was really, really good.  
  
Chanyeol’s hum is a deep, warm sound close to Junmyeon’s face. “You’re very welcome.” Chanyeol leans across and kisses his forehead. And Junmyeon doesn’t really know what possesses him to do it, but there’s a pleasant buzz under his skin and instead of pulling away, he tilts up and leans in. Chanyeol’s skin is rough and warm, and it’s just a little peck on the cheek but Junmyeon feels positively dizzy as he draws back.    
  
“Oh,” he breathes. Oh, oh. It hits him all at once that he wants this. He can’t- he really can’t see enough, so he feels instead, hesitantly bringing a hand to Chanyeol’s face. He doesn’t pull back. “Is this ok? Is it ok if we do this?”  
  
“I’m,” Chanyeol says hoarsely. His skin burns against Junmyeon’s palm. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t.. this is- this is a human thing, I don’t..”  
  
Right. But, “You kiss me all the time. When I go out and you stay. I thought..” Well, looking at it logically, which is _extremely_ hard for Junmyeon to get his brain in gear for right now, it makes sense that it wasn’t a loaded gesture. “Chanyeol, it’s kind of..when humans do that, it’s kind of..”  
  
“Oh.” Chanyeol’s brow creases, confusion and realisation at once. Junmyeon didn’t think it was possible for him to get any warmer. “Your friends do it? And..and I wanted to be close like they are, so. It seemed a nice thing to do.“  
  
“Oh,” Junmyeon echoes. “Context.” Chanyeol tilts his head curiously. Not to be dramatic, but Junmyeon might die if he doesn’t get to kiss that pouting mouth instead of just trying to visualise how soft it is. “Baekhyun and Jongdae both have people that are special to them. Like.. like a mate?” he tries, and Chanyeol nods in what Junmyeon hopes is understanding, “So when they kiss me there we know it’s just a friendly thing, because they already have someone. If you don’t have someone, it’s kind of..”  
  
“But,” Chanyeol bites at his lip, “I do. I have you. That’s why I wanted to-”  
  
“Chanyeollie,” Junmyeon cuts in, but Chanyeol is so close it’s hopelessly distracting. It’s not like Junmyeon had the most patience when it came to kissing boys he liked back when he had a social life, but the sheer weight of the intimacy and the warmth of another body is driving him crazy. It’s not the same as anything he’s wanted before - Chanyeol’s sand and twigs body and petrichor mouth - and nothing is the same about himself, either. “When humans love each other and kiss each other,” Junmyeon says, swallows, and holds eye contact regardless of how pointless that is for himself, “It’s because they’re special to each other, and..and it’s more complicated than that, but.”  
  
“Are you saying I’m special?” Chanyeol grins.  
  
Junmyeon groans. Feelings, ugh. “You’d still be in that container on the window if you weren’t.”  
  
“Kissing. Is it like being pollinated?”  
  
“Similar.” Junmyeon smiles. He thumbs back and forth at the soft spot just behind Chanyeol’s ear, and Chanyeol seems to get heavier and looser with each stroke. “Nicer. I would assume.”  
  
Chanyeol makes a low sound in response. “Nicer, huh.”  
  
When Junmyeon kisses Chanyeol its relief that he feels. Something good that fills him with warmth after so many long, hollow months. He draws back flushed and smiling, pressing their foreheads.  
  
“You said,” Chanyeol pauses, experimentally pressing his lips together to feel the tingle in them, “When humans.. humans, plural, love each other.”  
  
It’s been a long time since Junmyeon _giggled_. “When humans and little flowers love each other,” he amends, and Chanyeol’s flushed as bright as his hair when he leans in again.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“You seem happier,” Jongdae says, and then his eyes narrow, “Different. Not just happier, you seem different.” His tone is accusatory and so warm, Junmyeon can’t help grinning.  
  
“The stick changes my whole face, doesn’t it.” He pats the white cane on the bench beside him.  
  
“It compliments your outfit,” Jongdae reciprocates lazily, then leans forward, pushing his drink aside to make space for his elbows on the table. “Junmyeonnie, this is amazing. And I mean this in the nicest way possible, but.. what happened? We’ve hardly seen anything of you for the last few months and you’re suddenly up and out all the time. And carrying your thing? That you hated and hid from Baekhyun?”  
  
“Just, you know,” Junmyeon shrugs and gestures at the cafe around them. It’s a small family run place, far enough from home that he decided to use his cane but so small inside he doesn’t feel disoriented by the surroundings. “Really missed spending money on coffee. It’s not like it’s not actually easier on me to have it done by someone else.”  
  
Jongdae shakes his head, and Junmyeon’s grinning so wide he covers his mouth so as not to weird out the couple opposite. Junmyeon’s pretty sure he’s entitled to feel as pleased with himself as his friends have been.   
  
“Really, though,” Jongdae reaches across. His hand is strong and warm around Junmyeon’s forearm. “Whatever happened that helped you reach a turning point, I’m really- we all are, really happy for you,” he says, and it settles heavy in Junmyeon’s gut.  
  
Not being able to tell them about Chanyeol feels like the worst kind of lying. Not just because they’ve never hidden anything from each other before, but because he wouldn’t have done any of this without him. He couldn’t have. Every day he wakes up to the creaking vines in Chanyeol’s arms wrapped tight around him, and he feels lucky. His kisses taste like sun-warmed earth, and Junmyeon thinks about kissing him over and over when he’s turning the soil in the garden. Every morning he wakes up to the sight of his bright little flower, and it always gets the day off to a good start.  
  
Junmyeon pats Jongdae’s hand, then gently pulls away to lift his drink. “Once I got started it became easier,” he admits, “I changed my routine up, started taking some advice. Limiting myself to gardening meant having too much free time, so I started learning to cook, and- hey!” Junmyeon scowls and aims a sharp kick at Jongdae’s shin for the way he cackled, “At least I’m trying!”  
  
Jongdae wipes away fake tears. “Trying to put yourself back in hospital.”  
  
And yeah, Junmyeon didn’t exactly know his way around a kitchen even before he was more prone to hazards. Spurred on by Chanyeol’s interest, over the past few weeks his podcasts and tv consumption have changed to include more cooking. Chanyeol installs tens of apps every day and drags them into a folder on a screen he thinks Junmyeon doesn’t know about, and he reads and reads. Their first joint effort cooked meal was pancakes that tore into shreds when they scraped them from the bottom of the pan to try and flip. Junmyeon held the pan handle and spatula and Chanyeol slotted tight against his back, hands gently closed around Junmyeon’s wrists to guide him. Wasn’t a bad experience even if the pancakes tasted of burning.  
  
“I’m happy for me, too,” Junmyeon says quietly, and Jongdae reaches across again and squeezes him so tight.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
Having a specialist all of your own is a strange kind of relationship. Not entirely professional and not exactly a friend, either, but Junmyeon still has this urge to tell him about Chanyeol. _Excited_ may be an overstatement, but when the check up letter arrived Junmyeon filled to the seams with ideas of introducing his kind-of-boyfriend to someone who would be pleased for him. He won’t, because that’s not what you do when the special new person in your life resembles a human male, but he dreams about it twice.  
  
Chanyeol’s never been anywhere as formal as a waiting room before. From the moment he helped Junmyeon get his buttons even this morning he’s been fretting. He’s done perfectly, steering Junmyeon’s hand to the right spot to sign in at the desk and guiding him through the corridors (Junmyeon knows the way; he navigates, Chanyeol steers). Junmyeon’s name hasn’t even been fully called when Chanyeol nearly leaps out of the hard plastic chair with urgency.  
  
Junmyeon’s eye specialist is a tall, broad man with a voice too big for his small room. He welcomes them both in like they’ve arrived at a party, his laugh booming down the corridor. “You’ve brought a new friend to meet me,” he says, and Chanyeol’s so taken with the goofy smile on Junmyeon’s face he nearly trips.  
  
It was just one of those human figures of speech, Chanyeol realises once he’s been shown where to sit and is immediately forgotten about. The office isn’t bright and clinical like the other parts of the hospital. Carpeted and full of filing cabinets and kind of like they’ve entered an entirely different building. It’s lamplit, a bed against the wall and equipment and chairs beside the window. A square of strong white daylight frames them, but when Junmyeon leans towards the slit lamp the blinds are pulled down.   
  
This is all just standard procedure to Junmyeon after this long. He explained to Chanyeol during the bus ride here, in as much detail as he could remember, what to expect. Junmyeon flicks a look to the side where Chanyeol is hunched up at the dim end of the room. He deliberated a lot over whether to allow him to come, but in the end they agreed it was right. Chanyeol’s been as dedicated to his care as the other three - he deserves to be let in on the entire thing.  
  
Not that _the entire thing_ is all that much to see. Junmyeon props his chin on the rest and has (“Sorry, look up, I know you don’t like these.”) eyedrops from a tiny blister packet. It’s not some modern digital piece of equipment; it has oiled gears that turn noisily, and a little rattly joystick type control.  
  
The doctor pulls up a small cone and holds it in front of what he’s already looking through. The light on Junmyeon’s face turns blue, and the tip of the handheld microscope is too close to Junmyeon’s eye. Chanyeol feels uneasy about the steadiness of his hand, so he studies the chart beside his head. It’s not a poster but a moulded plastic sheet with sections of the eye diagram raised. It’s disgustingly detailed, in that way everything about human anatomy is. Chanyeol reads each description, attempts to repeat them back to himself, then reads them again, staying as quiet as possible. (Well, maybe not too quiet. Humans breathe, after all).  
  
Junmyeon reads the reflection of the chart from the mirror in the top corner of the room, turns to read the small flip chart on the desk. The doctor has never dropped formal speech, but there’s a genuine friendliness to the odd personal questions he slips in. The first few months of this were numb and foggy and Junmyeon imagines he wasn’t the most responsive patient to deal with, but his garden is something he’s always found the words for.  
  
It’s maybe just what a big man he is, his gentle but commanding presence, but Junmyeon’s always felt kind of bashful speaking to him. Junmyeon’s done wonderfully today, he says, and there’s a kind of pride in his tone when he adds that he thinks it would be safe to reduce the steroids. Junmyeon has the urge to wriggle in the chair.  
  
“I imagine your camellia will be at the end of its season by now,” the doctor says as he fills the prescription notes. He uses an ink pen that scratches loud and hollow on the wood grain of the desk. There’s a laugh in his voice as he gestures across the room with the pen, “You must be able to see your friend here whatever the weather.”  
  
A flare of heat flushes from Junmyeon’s ears down into the neck of his sweater. He looks over, and Chanyeol’s arms and legs are doing the sticky-out thing. “I never lose him in a crowd,” he agrees, covering his smile with his fingers.  
  
When they leave, Junmyeon’s specialist, even taller than Chanyeol, leads Junmyeon to the door. He claps them both firmly on the shoulder, like they’re children, and says, “Take care of each other.” Junmyeon beams, nods.  
  
They make it three steps down the corridor before Chanyeol says, “You told him about me.”  
  
Junmyeon looks up at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol winces. Junmyeon’s eyes are left slightly yellow from the eyedrops. He knows how gross it is, and that his pupils are blown. Jongdae always comments on how creepy it looks. Unfortunately they also make things appear even fuzzier than usual, so dropping Chanyeol’s arm and scooting ahead isn’t an option.  
  
“I- yeah. He’s always asked what I’ve been keeping busy with. He’s nice,” Junmyeon shrugs, “I think the nice ones subtly check up on your wellbeing outside of the specific thing they’re treating you for.” They leave the building, and it’s empty enough outside that Junmyeon leans in close and stays close. “Anyway, so what if I told him I happened to have a very pretty camellia.”  
  
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Chanyeol shakes his head. If only Junmyeon could see if he was getting pink. “I thought maybe.. Do you think he knows? About me. Maybe it was just..I dunno. I felt like maybe he knew. He’s trained higher than the others, right?”  
  
Huh. “Like. Well, in eyes, yeah.”  
  
Puzzled by what exactly Chanyeol thinks doctors do, Junmyeon directs them back to the bus terminal that will take them via the pharmacy.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“Was the change in your medication ok?”  
  
Junmyeon sucks loudly at the thick straw in his drink, responding with a nod and raised brows.  
  
“You’ve seemed,” Chanyeol pokes his tongue into the edge of his mouth. Fruit infused water is sweet and good and the flavour is stuck to his lips. “Weird. All day.”  
  
Not that it’s been a bad day or anything. The opposite - Junmyeon’s been incredibly active. In the morning they planted some new mail order seeds and deadheaded and weeded. They got through four podcast episodes (kind of. Junmyeon may have drifted in and out of the part about annual river swimming competitions, even though one is held in Zitao’s father’s hometown). They’ve been to the convenience store and Chanyeol picked out snacks. Snacks he can’t eat himself, but they’ve got them spread across the bed and it’s still kind of exciting. He gets to sniff them and puzzle over them before Junmyeon dutifully eats it for him. It’s not really felt like a normal day.  
  
“Not weird,” Junmyeon pouts, stirring the straw around. He’s never tried one of these convenience store milkshakes before because they’re overpriced and loaded with sugar. And, he’s now found, so delicious and thick he’ll be needing at least three a week.   
  
Chanyeol drops his chin onto his folded arms. There’s crumbs on the bed covers. “Is everything ok with Taozi?” he asks, flicking at the crumbs with a finger. “You were talking a long time last night.”  
  
“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, “We had a nice talk.” Zitao was telling him all about how Sehun was finishing school and needed to go back to Korea, so maybe they could visit. Maybe Junmyeon could visit them sometime, y’know, since he’s become so much more adventurous recently. And then he said _Chan-yokai can come too, if he’ll still be here by then_ , and Junmyeon’s head has felt heavy with storm clouds since.  
  
Chanyeol hums, then rolls so their shoulders bump. “You’ll tell me eventually, so you could do it sooner and not keep being weird.”  
  
“You know, some people would love to have a partner as intuitive as you,” Junmyeon replies flatly. But he makes a point, as he usually does. “It was just, Taozi said something, and it made me think. I wondered..will you leave? I know you’re not one of those fancy spirits with powers,” he says before Chanyeol reminds him, “But sometimes..sometimes spiritual things are only around for as long as they have a purpose?”  
  
“You couldn’t wait for me to leave when I first arrived.”  
  
“Chanyeol, I’m serious. I don’t know anything about this. If you made some kind of contract or if you’re just here until you’ve fulfilled something or..” The plastic cup in Junmyeon’s hands is a brown and pink blur. He turns it around and around. “You said you missed being in the ground. If you wanted to go back I wouldn’t stop you,” he says, then catches a shaky breath and puffs it out. This feels like the most horribly vulnerable position he’s been in, and that’s saying something. Junmyeon pulls a sleeve down to cover his knuckles, tugging it tight over the skin. “But, if I’m honest, I don’t want you to go anywhere.”   
  
For a long moment Chanyeol says nothing, and Junmyeon fiddles with the straw in his cup. “I don’t think I can go back. One time deal.” Chanyeol rolls to the side again, nudging their shoulders together, “If you hadn’t wanted me to stay I’d have just started hanging around in fog luring people to their deaths, I guess?”  
  
Junmyeon smiles a little at that. It’s probably just the excess of sugar that’s making him feel nauseous now he’s got an answer. “You’ve been weird too, though,” he says, “Some days you just..you seem off, and I can’t tell why. I thought you’d tell me if I was upsetting you again,” he pouts, “You’re supposed to stop me being a jerk.”  
  
“It’s the opposite.”  
  
“You’re being weird because I’m making you happy?” Junmyeon asks, and if he sounds incredulous it’s..well. Him? Making someone _happy_?  
  
“No- I mean, maybe. Kind of.” Sighing, Chanyeol drops his head to Junmyeon’s shoulder. “So, the thing is, I do know how old I am. In plant years, at least.”  
  
Junmyeon pushes up on his elbows, shrugging Chanyeol off in the process, so he can turn onto his side and face him. “You said you didn’t know,” and he’s scowling, but from what he can see Chanyeol is bashful right now. He may not be able to see his features clearly, but he’s coming to read his body language with ease.   
  
“The thing with..the whole becoming sentient deal. You know anything can become sentient? Not just already living things.”  
  
“I know what a yokai is.” Junmyeon’s relieved Chanyeol wasn’t an overly-attached piece of furniture. “But I don’t know how they come to be.”  
  
When he’s uncomfortable Chanyeol tries to bunch himself up small, but there’s no room for it lying out on the bed with Junmyeon beside him. He rubs at the nape of his neck. Sometimes it prickles and stings in a way that probably makes sense to a human. “Just. I’m not gonna leave. Ok? You can trust me, I knew what I was doing when I came here. I don’t have any plans to leave.”  
  
Well, that’s nice, but it’s not an answer. “You’re always so evasive,” Junmyeon pouts. “Sneaky little spirit,” he jabs at Chanyeol’s side with his tiny strong hand, “Maybe you are malicious after all.”  
  
“N-“ Chanyeol tries to duck away from the sharp prods to his ribs, but there’s nowhere to go unless he leaves the bed and risks scattering crumbs and empty packets. ”Fine! Fine. A hundred.”   
  
“A..“  
  
“Anything over a hundred years old gains the ability to become self aware. When you asked I realised that I must have turned a hundred, and that’s why it worked.” Chanyeol rubs at his sore ribs. When he dares to glance over at Junmyeon it’s to find him gawping. Chanyeol heats from his ears to his toes. “I knew you’d get all weird about it! That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”  
  
It takes a moment for Junmyeon to find his voice. His tongue feels thick and sticky with sugar. “I’m- I’m not being _weird_ , that’s just..It’s a long time to be alive for. You used up your wish straight away,” he swallows thickly, “On _me_.”  
  
Chanyeol groans, covering his face with his hands. “Yeah, on you. I’ve been weird because it’s just. Things don’t really work how I expected they would, you know? I know you don’t feel the same way about me.”  
  
For a second time Junmyeon can’t seem to find the words fast enough.  
  
“I get that now,” Chanyeol hurries to explain, “I understand, I know humans are different to me, and me appearing as a human is different to what I was to you as a flower, and there are different kinds of love and when you don’t need my help anymore then you’ll meet more new humans and meet th-“  
  
It’s a hard thump of a kiss with Junmyeon’s accuracy not being the best. Chanyeol makes a startled sound of complaint, both at being cut off and at the bruising force they met with.   
  
“You’re mine and I’m keeping you,” Junmyeon probably sounds childishly sullen, but he doesn’t care. He balls his hands in Chanyeol’s hoodie and holds himself close. “I won’t want anybody else. I’ve never wanted to keep _anyone_ , Chanyeol.”   
  
Chanyeol licks over his lower lip. It’s pulsing with heat. “Never?”  
  
Junmyeon shakes his head. “Baekhyun and Jongdae have always wanted to find someone to be with forever. I’ve liked people- I’ve had fun being with people, but not like that. I’ve never wanted that.”  
  
“Never,” Chanyeol, who is a hundred years old and traded in his peaceful life as a camellia for a human, repeats. Uncertain, confused.  
  
Junmyeon feels the same. But, “You’re my little flower, and I want you to stay here and be mine,” he says, burying in against Chanyeol’s chest. If there’s only one thing he is sure about, it’s that.  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“Chanyeollie, blue or black?”  
  
Chanyeol turns to find Junmyeon elbow deep in the closet, rummaging. There’s a black sweater on a hanger in his other hand. He pulls out a sleeve, holding it away from his shadow and frowning. Warm cozy rooms are all well and good when you don’t need sterile brightness to see.  
  
“Which colour do you want?” Chanyeol asks. Junmyeon pouts, and Chanyeol places a steadying hand at his back to let Junmyeon know he’s stepping closer.  
  
“Which colour is best for lying convincingly to your friends in?”  
  
“Blue. Black looks more suspicious.” Chanyeol follows the sleeve into the closet and fights the hanger out from between the tightly packed clothes, then takes the one Junmyeon’s holding and wedges it back in.  
  
It’s only..temporary lying. And it’s not _entirely_ a lie, anyway. It’s not exactly untrue that Chanyeol is Junmyeon’s carer, and it’ll explain why he’s around all the time. They’ll have the distraction of sussing out that Chanyeol’s secretly Junmyeon’s kind-of boyfriend before suspecting he’s not human, anyway, which is probably preferable.   
  
“I’m worried.” Chanyeol’s spoken to people in passing when they go out. But they’re just people, not Junmyeon’s people. His closest friends. “I mean, obviously I hope they’ll like me and I’ll like them, but them believing me is more important. What if they don’t? What if they don’t agree and want you to change your mind?”  
  
“You look-” Junmyeon reaches to push a stray crimson hair back in place. It’s long for styling up and strands keep falling out of the product, standing up like little sprouts. “-incredibly handsome. Even if they’re not convinced, you can probably just charm your way around them.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Junmyeon hums. “Useless gay, useless bisexual,” he explains with a smile, “Kyungsoo’s a mean asexual, but trust me, he likes looking. He’ll like looking at you.”  
  
“You’re already relying on that more than me being convincing.” Chanyeol fiddles nervously with his cuffs.   
  
If he’s going to live here permanently it’s not only impractical to keep hiding from Junmyeon’s friends, but it’s.. well, he doesn’t want to _be_ human, but he doesn’t want to be dehumanised as such either. Being introduced to them under false pretences had been his idea, and it seemed like a good one. Like, when they were cuddled up in bed giggling about Kyungsoo’s confusion over a large pair of shoes in the hall. It had seemed a good idea when they were safe and alone and not wearing uncomfortable tight fitting clothes.  
  
“It’s not that.” Junmyeon grins. “Envy and pride are very bad human traits, Chanyeollie, don’t pick them up.”  
  
“So you’re showing me off,” he accuses, maybe sounding a little proud. What flower doesn’t like being appreciated for how they look?  
  
Junmyeon folds his arms across his chest, but then notices a strip of white where there shouldn’t be. “I want you to get to know my friends, and for you to not have to creep around the place anymore,” he says, messily tucking the left tail of Chanyeol’s shirt into his waistband. Chanyeol makes a little sound in realisation and covers Junmyeon’s hands with his own. He’s trying to take the task over, and it takes him a moment to realise that Junmyeon’s purposely letting his hands get in the way. “And I’m showing you off.”  
  
“Stop that,” Chanyeol groans, pressing his palms to Junmyeon’s rounded cheeks, “If you keep smiling like that they’re going to figure it out before I’ve even said anything.”  
  
“They only need to get used to you being around and then we can explain,” Junmyeon’s smile broadens, Chanyeol’s palms pressing warm to his face. “It doesn’t matter if they’re suspicious.”  
  
“You know them better than me,” Chanyeol concedes, but he still sounds worried. Junmyeon takes one of his hands between his own and turns it, presses a kiss to the heel of Chanyeol’s palm, and, well. Whatever Junmyeon wants is fine.   
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
Out of the three Baekhyun probably wasn’t the first to figure it out, but he is the first to outright accuse Junmyeon of sleeping with his carer. Which Junmyeon truthfully denied. But maybe Zitao was right about the glowy thing; Baekhyun turns up unannounced the next morning with a lot of questions and fresh pastries as bribery.  
  
  
“Kim Junmyeon, you’re sorely out of practice at sneaking boys past people.” Baekhyun tears open both grease-spotted paper bags set on the table between them and nudges one towards Junmyeon. “The poor guy couldn’t have convincingly lied about it to save his life.”  
  
“It is how we met though. Honestly, when he showed up one day to..” What do professional carers actually do? Junmyeon waves his sugary fingers dismissively, “..do the whole carer thing, he annoyed the hell out of me. I didn’t want him here.”  
  
“That part is convincing.” Baekhyun tears off a chunk of buttery pastry and drops it into his mouth. “But then suddenly you wanted him here an awful lot?”  
  
“We didn’t get along for a while. We had different ideas about what kind of progress I should be making, and I just wanted to fight with him every day. But over time we came to see each other’s views better. And he’s..” Junmyeon frowns and picks at the flakes of pastry loose in the bag. Kind, thoughtful, passionate, considerate.. “You know.”   
  
“Hot,” Baekhyun offers. Junmyeon’s jaw drops, and Baekhyun chews open-mouthed and noisy in imitation, “You can cut out that innocent act. Like I really believe you can’t tell he’s like an 8.”  
  
“Aren’t you too old for rating my choices in men?”  
  
“Too married for it, maybe. But I know you want to know why he’s not a 10.”  
  
“Too tall,” Junmyeon says, shaking his head in disbelief that they’re doing this. They’ve been playing this since they were teenagers, and..well, Junmyeon hadn’t really imagined it would be necessary again. It’s kind of surreal being able to talk about Chanyeol to someone he’s actively been hiding him from.  
  
“That’s only one point.” Baekhyun leans back in the chair and licks crumbled pastry from his lips. “His _hair_ , Junmyeonnie. You’re not a teenager anymore. How did he even get employed looking like that? I’ve never even seen that colour on anyone. Nice for you though, I g- oh, is that why?”  
  
Junmyeon nearly chokes on his mouthful of butter and sugar. “Baekhyun, what- They wouldn’t make their staff change appearance to suit the client.” _They_ , he said, Even he’s buying into the fictitious employer. Pretending Chanyeol isn’t due in yet, when really he’s still hiding, bundled under the covers of their bed.  
  
Shrugging, Baekhyun reaches back over the table to start fiddling with the empty paper bag. He always likes to be touching something, keeping moving. “But isn’t it kind of, bad? Like, against the rules? I had to fire my own husband to marry him,” he laughs, waving a dismissive hand, “I’m not judging the circumstances, obviously. But he’d get in shit with his agency if they knew, right?”  
  
Junmyeon hesitates before nodding. That’s a plot point in their story he hadn’t considered. He’s always been better with numbers than words. Baekhyun drums his fingers on the table.  
  
“Would he leave for you, do you think?” Baekhyun asks, and Junmyeon doesn’t need to think about that question. He nods, and maybe he’s glad he can only hear the soft gasp and can’t quite make out Baekhyun’s features beyond his open mouth. “Sooo.. he’s got it that bad for you. But you? Is he just making the nights less cold and lonely, or..”  
  
Well, there’s a question. Junmyeon’s lengthily silence seems to answer it for him.   
  
“I knew it!” Baekhyun wiggles in his seat, “I told the others - he’s not your type, of course you caught feelings.”  
  
“What does that even mean.”  
  
“He is not your type,” Baekhyun repeats emphatically, “Barely in looks, let alone personality. So obviously it’s because you actually like him.”  
  
The idea of falling for Chanyeol as a human, as a stranger, seems improbable. Even if Junmyeon could explain the circumstances, he’s not just going to tell anyone he’s maybe been in some kind of love for a while now. He’s not even good at telling Chanyeol that. He should.  
  
  
“Happy for you, Junmyeonnie,” Baekhyun says as he hugs Junmyeon goodbye, feet on the front path and body draped through the doorway. Junmyeon huffs, sways him, then pushes him back upright.  
  
“Stop it, you all keep saying that. You knew it was only a matter of time until I got back on my feet.”  
  
The length of Baekhyun’s pause says enough about that. He shrugs and leans into Junmyeon’s space again. “Happy you’ve found someone that makes you all soft and happy like that. We can pretend we don’t know, if it’d make him more comfortable.”  
  
“He was afraid he wouldn’t meet your approval,” Junmyeon smiles, “And I think he probably still is, so maybe just until he’s more sure of things.”   
  
Baekhyun frowns, hands clasped around Junmyeon’s forearms. “We trust your judgement,” he says, and Junmyeon appreciates that, “But that’s understandable, with the circumstances. Next time you wanna- not that you seem to really need us as chaperones anymore, but next time you wanna go somewhere nice, if you wanted to invite us as well as bringing him..”  
  
Junmyeon hums like he’s considering it. Really he’s just amused at Baekhyun’s insuppressible curiosity.    
  
“Let us get to know him more, Myeonnie. I know we’re all going to love him.” Baekhyun says it earnestly enough. He gives Junmyeon a last squeeze and leaves him wondering how he got so lucky with the people in his life.  
  
Well, anyway, now the coast is clear..  
  
  
“Chanyeollie, it’s safe to come out now.” Junmyeon pats his hands over the lump under the bed covers. He must reach something sensitive - Chanyeol jolts and squirms and his fluffy red head pops out.   
  
“You could come back in,” he suggests. Since they’ve been on more intimate terms he’s getting very good at intoning suggestions in ways that compensate for his puppy eyes being ineffective.   
  
“I have things to do,” Junmyeon protests as Chanyeol makes a grabby hand towards him, “I have th- _Chanyeol_.” It’s not exactly a struggle for Chanyeol to tug Junmyeon in. By the time he’s steadied himself from bouncing down onto the mattress Chanyeol’s swamped him with the covers. “You’re the one that wanted me to be more active and now you want me to stay in bed all day?” Junmyeon pouts playfully, “I spent months doing that.”  
  
“Yeah, when I wasn’t able to join you!” Chanyeol pouts right back, and just the curl of his tone makes Junmyeon think of kissing him. He isn’t afraid to pull Junmyeon around a little now, still mindful of not disorienting him but tucking covers and limbs around him with determination.   
  
And yeah, Junmyeon can think of a lot of things that are a better way to spend time than getting back into bed, but Chanyeol makes a very good point. Chanyeol nuzzles in at Junmyeon’s neck and holds him so close, so carefully, the way he learned from how Junmyeon used to hold him so entirely in both hands.   
  
“Only twenty minutes, ok?” Junmyeon’s already closed his eyes, “And then we’re getting up. Things to do.”  
  
Chanyeol’s sigh ruffles Junmyeon’s hair. “I regret trying so hard to get you interested in being active all the time again.”  
  
“You don’t,” Junmyeon yawns, burying into the warmth of Chanyeol’s broad chest, “It just means you have to work harder to distract me.”  
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
Junmyeon had wondered if it would be bad, revisiting somewhere he’s only ever seen in fragments. Whether being back out in the fields with the big pond and big greenhouses would just remind him of before, or if it would be nice, now. Now that there is a before and after.  
  
Kyungsoo drove because Kyungsoo knows the way. Baekhyun sat at one window because he likes to see out, and Chanyeol sat at the other because Junmyeon knew he’d enjoy seeing a rural area. Junmyeon went in the middle, less steady but pressed between two warm bodies. Chanyeol rubbing his thumb across Junmyeon’s knuckles was to soothe his own nerves, not a boyfriend gesture, but Baekhyun gave Junmyeon a subtle little smile and maybe wiggled slightly as he turned back to look at the scenery.  
  
  
As soon as they’re through the entrance Baekhyun loops their arms. Junmyeon, with his white cane in one hand and Baekhyun occupying the other, turns back and scans for the flash of red. He smiles apologetically, and Chanyeol’s limbs seem to move in a gesture that says its ok before Junmyeon is dragged away entirely.  
  
Chanyeol drops behind, hands stuffed in his pockets. This place has meaning to them from a time before he was around. Baekhyun seems nice and so far they’ve at least bonded over the volume they like to speak at. He gets to look after Junmyeon all the time - he won’t begrudge Baekhyun taking over.  
  
Keeping them in sight, Chanyeol wanders. There’s a strange kind of humidity in here from the warehouse roof and well watered plants. The smell of damp soil and the feel of it under his feet in small clumps across the stone floor calms his nerves. Nearly everyone here is currently out of the ground, all kept in plastic or ceramic containers while they wait to be rehomed.  
  
This place is much larger than the one they visited to buy his soil, and being far from all those roads and noisy cars feels good. Chanyeol’s almost sorry that most of his fellow plants here will, like he will, be taken back into the city. “You need someone to look after you, so I suppose it’s worth the trade in the end,” he says to a fuchsia. He means to touch it gently, but his clumsy human fingers prod and make it swing. Oops.  
  
He’d apologise, but Kyungsoo and the cart suddenly pull up beside him. The words stick in his mouth, so he guiltily rubs one of its leaves between his finger and thumb.  
  
“This’ll be a lot easier than it was last time. With you here,” Kyungsoo says, resting on the cart with his elbows. Junmyeon and his friends are all small, but Kyungsoo seems the smallest. He’s stocky and wears odd clothing that throw his proportions off. “You should have seen me and Baekhyun trying to manage Junmyeon as well as a cart. Neither of us wanted him to think it was a bother, but we were barely strong enough between us to lift half of it.”  
  
Chanyeol consciously laughs, and it must sound as uncertain as he is. There’s a flicker of a frown before Kyungsoo smiles. He’s trying to make friends, Chanyeol realises, and his ears tip pink as he realises Junmyeon’s probably told them that he’s nervous. He is, obviously, about whether they’ll like him, but also about getting caught out before they’ve had a chance to get to know him. Revealing your true form _after_ people like you seems the safest order to go about it.  
  
“Junmyeon said you cook?” Chanyeol holds his hands out, offering to push the cart.  
  
Kyungsoo gives him a curt nod and steps aside. “Professionally, yeah. I mean, that word always sounds more impressive than it is. It’s nothing big, but I’d like it to be one day. But you know how it is being young in that industry.”  
  
Chanyeol doesn’t. Kyungsoo’s smiling, so he laughs anyway. It must sound like it came easier that time; Kyungsoo’s looking up at him like he isn’t just some strange intruder.  
  
“Junmyeonnie tells me you’re making him eat better these days.”  
  
“I’m-“ Chanyeol’s tongue suddenly feels clumsy. Pick a subject he can actually talk about, he’d thought, not realising Kyungsoo would be way above attempting recipes from apps. “Learning. I only recently started, so I’m pretty limited. I’m not, uh. Food doesn’t interest me much, to be honest, I just wanted Junmyeon to start eating better to help with his recovery.”  
  
Kyungsoo parts his lips, then pinches them back into a smile. For a moment he looks at Chanyeol the same way Baekhyun had looked at Junmyeon’s little hand under his own, like he’s fond. Like maybe Chanyeol’s unprofessional interest in Junmyeon is ok, not just Junmyeon making questionable decisions.   
  
“That’s good of you. If you ever need any tips let me know.” Chanyeol nods his head rapidly. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Considering how he eats if you leave him to his own devices I don’t think he’ll be interested in me interfering in trying to elevate home cooked food, though. I’m sure he’s really appreciating it.”  
  
“I. Yeah, I like s-“ There’s just something in the steady way Kyungsoo makes eye contact that’s getting Chanyeol all muddled. His neck is doing that weird stingy thing again, and he knows that when his face feels hot it tends to look it too. “He seems happy, so, I’m happy to do it.”  
  
Kyungsoo nods. “We’d better catch them up. If Baekhyun tires him out chatting then we won’t get around to buying anything.”  
  
Junmyeon hadn’t been wrong that Kyungsoo likes to look. It’s unnerving and somehow makes Chanyeol want to puff up proud. One moment it feels like maybe Kyungsoo knows, like he’s searching him for evidence, then the next it’s just.. Chanyeol knows how humans look at things when they like the look of them.  
  
“Yeah, lets..” Chanyeol rubs at the back of his neck through his sleeve, then scans the area. It reaches a point where the warehouse is cut away, leading to sloped pathways with larger plants and trees. It’d be easy to miss the two of them if..well, if it weren’t the two of them, arms linked and Junmyeon’s white cane and their heads conspiratorially close. “Ah, that way.” He turns the cart and the wheels rattle loudly over the uneven floor.  
  
  
“Kyungsoo didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” Junmyeon murmurs close to Chanyeol’s ear.   
  
Baekhyun moved to the front passenger seat for the journey home to leave the back free for their purchases. And to give Junmyeon some privacy with Chanyeol. (Junmyeon didn’t ask. From his tone Baekhyun probably winked when he insisted and held the door open).  
  
Chanyeol makes a sound in his throat. “No, we got along ok. He seems nice. He was nice to me.”  
  
“Good. I’m glad.” Junmyeon nuzzles in at Chanyeol’s shoulder, and Chanyeol rests their heads together.  
  
Too much excitement always wears Junmyeon out, and despite the cleaner air and greenery all around Chanyeol’s a little wilted from his efforts to appear human. A responsible human at that.  
  
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo says from the front, and Chanyeol startles and tries to look like he definitely wasn’t about to press a kiss to the top of Junmyeon’s head. “There’s some sharp corners coming up.”  
  
“Ah-“ Careful not to disturb Junmyeon, Chanyeol angles his hip and reaches out to put pressure against the large container strapped in beside him. “Got it. All good.”  
  
“You two are friends already.” Junmyeon wriggles a little to get comfortable again. Amongst the odds and ends Junmyeon wanted to get (and soil - for breakfast and for the beds), he told Chanyeol to pick out a plant he really liked to bring back home. Chanyeol had worried that the fuchsia was too big, but Junmyeon assured him Kyungsoo would find a way if it was the one he wanted.  
  
The flowers hang down like tiny dancers, swinging with the motion of the car and tickling where they brush Chanyeol’s wrist. “We are,” he smiles, and this time he does sneak a kiss.   
  
  
  
🌼  
  
  
  
“Are you sure you’re ok doing this? You won’t get jealous or anything?” Junmyeon asks. He’s bundled up in a coat, scarf, and nestled in against Chanyeol’s side. He isn’t smiling - teasing. It was his idea, because he’s better at gestures than words, but Chanyeol sharing the sentiment is what matters.  
  
Jongdae’s only been digging for a few minutes. He had a lot of questions about how and why Junmyeon decided on getting rid of the camellia after insisting it had to stay before. _No trace of it_ , he’d grumbled to himself like it was a bad thing, _No roots! How is the earth so compact after roots like that!_    
  
“Sure,” Chanyeol nods, looking over at where the fuchsia is sitting, patiently waiting to be planted. It’s as bright as he is, and it’s got a charming personality. A good choice. “It’s not my home anymore,” he says, tilting his head to rest against Junmyeon’s.  
  
Junmyeon hums agreement. His little hand releases its grip on Chanyeol’s hoodie to reach up, feel over his collarbones and slip around the back of his neck. “Your home is here with me,” he smiles into the soft kiss to Chanyeol’s jaw.  
  
A whistle startles them apart. “You could _try_ to be subtle,” Jongdae raises a critical brow at them, then turns back to lift the fuchsia and lower it into the ground.   
  
They huddle closer together, Junmyeon giggling behind his hand and Chanyeol trying to somehow hide himself behind him, their faces flushed camellia red.

**Author's Note:**

> please check out this [beautiful art](https://twitter.com/roguemyeon/status/1144203005690036224?s=21) by roguemyeon of the opening of chapter 2!  
> thank you for reading ! ☀ I am on [twt](https://twitter.com/taonsil) ❀ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/suyeols) 24/7 crying about suyeol and queer things, often simultaneously


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